Just Mistletoe, Totally Sexless
by dgschneider
Summary: Boyfriend and girlfriend, engaged couple, married or a man & his mistress, it's the easiest way for our crime-fighting duo to conduct undercover work as partners. But doing so had a tendency to put them in physically awkward positions making it hard to maintain their relationship as just partners and friends especially when both are feeling the draw of attraction. Set in Season 5
1. Chapter 1

She watched in the oversized ornate mirror as Booth's hand slipped lightly across her collarbone until it dipped under the edge of her dress. It took her breath away which she knew he felt as her chest rose and fell against the palm of his hand at a severely expedited rate.

"Shhhh." He quieted her. "It's just mistletoe, Bones. Act like it happens everyday and no one will know it doesn't." She sunk back into him, let his hand drift, his fingers play lightly moving back and forth, let her heart race, let her head roll into his neck. He watched their reflection as his other hand gripped her hip and held her close. Believable. Anyone watching them would think they were just another couple who'd come to the remote lodge for a discrete romantic getaway.

"Totally sexless." Attempting to sound solid and unaffected by his touch she whispered her response. It came out breathy which clearly brought Booth great pleasure.

Boyfriend and girlfriend, engaged couple, married or a man and his mistress, it was the easiest way for them to conduct undercover work as partners. But doing so had a tendency to put them in physically awkward positions making it hard to maintain their relationship as just partners and friends - two titles they touted constantly among their colleagues and friends. Mistletoe had become a codeword between them. It stretched back into their past several years. When one puckish prosecutor insisted she kiss her partner under the parasitic plant to gain her cooperation in orchestrating a Brennan Christmas miracle. It was their way of grounding themselves, reminding each other that this, what happened between them physically, was just work.

The lobby emptied, he pulled back. His fingertips ran along her collarbone and across her chest until his hand rested on her shoulder. She regained composure. Staring at their reflection, for just a moment, she wasn't sure what she saw. It was them, unmistakably them. But was it them as partners, as friends, as they would be if they were lovers? It seemed to be a question she couldn't escape lately. Sure, they reminded themselves that this thing between them was a part they were playing, sexless, but it seemed so very far away from that. What if there was no line she found herself asking more and more. What if they threw all caution aside and crossed it?

Three women went missing from the lodge. All registered with false identities, characters from early literature, historical figures, silver screen actors and actresses, famous pinup girls, making it complicated to identify and connect the women to the lodge until the cases got bumped up to them and their team at the Jeffersonian. Clues started rolling in. It was just a matter of time before Angela was able to match up sketches to fake and real personas. Booth felt strongly that the best way to get information from the lodge was to come as guests. There wasn't enough hard evidence for a warrant and a place like this wasn't going to just give away access to their records at the flash of his badge. Covering for heads of state, high powered lawyers and judges, corporate officers and the such gave Queen Anne's Purlieu friends in high places.

Registered as Bogart and Bacall they stepped back into the world of undercover. Tonight she wore a deep blue evening gown. It was modest enough, she thought, a simple deep v-neck in both the front and the back, a fitted bodice, long flowing skirt, layers of chiffon. Admittedly, she picked it because she knew Booth would like it. Was it wrong to purposefully tempt him? Not when he engaged in the same tantalizing game. He wore a tux, black, sleek, slim bowtie, and when she leaned back into him she'd felt every one of the pearl buttons press against her bare back. Booth stared back at her in the mirror clearly amused. Which seemed like evidence that she was not the only one playing this very dangerous and alluring game.

"I like your dress." He said casually. "It's pretty." His fingers still played a little in the soft light fabric and though he didn't show it his mind struggled to pull away from the dreamy state touching her put him in. This was going to be hard, harder than he originally thought. Turning her to face him he leaned in and spoke softly.

"You okay there, Bones?" Almost chortling as he waited for her answer. That snapped her out of it.

"Booth, I am fine. I am a professional and this...this is just a roll." She nearly spit it out. "So, who are we are interrogating first?"

"Not interrogating, Bones, just getting to know, you remember how this works, right?" But she didn't. Not now, not with his hands slipping sinfully along her waist and hips. She slapped his hands away and shot him a dirty look.

"Dinner then." Turning quickly on her heel she marched towards the dining room, arms swinging, leaving Booth to catch up.

They always danced on the edge of inappropriate, it wasn't unfamiliar ground, but this, this was playing with fire and they both knew it. A quiet candle lit dinner in front of the lodge's fireplace as they made small talk with the staff acting interested in the history of the lodge, rumors, stories, legends. Asking simple questions about how long each attendant had worked there and who were the regulars.

After dinner they wandered through the ballroom mingling and talking with other couples. Bones made a point to visit the ladies room several times in the name of freshening up. A place she discovered to be a hub of gossip and information. Booth hovered at the bar engaging in a fact finding mission of his own. It was getting late when they took to the dance floor one last time making their way around the floor, passing the various couples who interested them, listening as best they could. Her body started to melt into his becoming heavy in his arms as she rested her head on his shoulder. His eyes closed as he pulled her in just a little closer. One hand rested on her bare back, his fingers softly moving in the tiniest circles. It was utterly hypnotic. His other hand holding hers, wrapping it tightly to his chest.

"You ready for bed, sleepy head?" He hummed.

"Not yet." She murmured in return. He settled into her, into the music, into a moment that wouldn't be theirs if it weren't for their work, for this charade in the name of crime fighting. They lingered on the dance floor pretending to listen to the hushed conversations of other couples.

The elevator ride back up to the room seemed long and found them antsy, anxious to exchange information but reluctant to in this public setting. Several turns and twist of halls found them finally close to their room. Booth fumbled in his pockets for the room key lodged amongst all the tokens and small remembrances he carried with him everywhere. Looking up with key in hand Brennan couldn't help but register the flash of panic in his eyes followed by her body being slammed against the door. Booth buried his face, assaulting her neck. No time to stay her reactions her sudden gasps and moans of pleasure seemed only to egg him on. It took a moment for her to register that he wasn't actually kissing her. Though at the moment she wasn't entirely sure which would have been worse, his kiss or the feel of his lips brushing along her skin as his warm breath tickled her. It took time, more time than normal for her to register his words spoken in a quiet panic against her ear.

"I know that man coming down the hall. He knows me, Bones. He'll blow our cover." This was a tactical move to hide his identity. Mistletoe.

She was instantly back in reality. Pulling the simple clip that held her hair loosely up all night she shook her head letting soft curls fall around Booth's face to keep him hidden. He kept trying to open their damned hotel room door, fumbling as they continued the ruse of a couple so heavily engaged in foreplay they couldn't seem to make the simple lock work. He groaned loudly as he felt her leg lift against his thigh and settle around his hip. In the name of saving their cover he let his hand slip sinfully up her leg to keep it wrapped around him. Totally sexless.

The couple was close, within feet of them, when it finally opened and they tumbled through. Slamming the door behind them, they fell against it, and slid to the floor. Both breathing heavy trying to contain their reaction to the other.

"Damn." Booth chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Holy shit."

"I think it worked." Booth nodded in agreement. It was just about all he was capable of at the moment, nodding. A few more deep breaths and he might be able to talk coherently and spit out something more than a string of curse words. For the moment their hearts raced and their hormones surged.

"Okay." A long sharp inhale marked the beginning of his explanation. "That was Don, he's an old army buddy from my sniper days. He worked munitions. Guy was seriously a genius with any kind of gun or explosives. He came home and started his own company. He's a Department of Defense wet dream."

"You've stayed in touch?" Trying to measure out how serious the threat was to their undercover identities she pressed for more information.

"Yes and no." Booth took in another sharp breath, this one more relaxed than the last. "I mean we aren't buddy buddy or anything but when I see him around he always makes a point of talking to me."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple of months ago at a training conference at Quantico." He rolled his head on the hard wooden door so he could look directly at her. "Look, I know if he got a good look at my face he'd recognize me." The seriousness of the situation was starting to sink in and she nodded her approbation. "I know he would. I mean, we're close enough that he asks about Parker by name. He shows me pictures of his wife and kids." His mood was changing rapidly. She watched it move across his face with each deepening realization. "Bones, that wasn't his wife." Not a surprise given the type of establishment this was but still a heartbreaking one for her partner. A sadness filled his eyes. Booth was a good man, rare in morals and integrity.

"I'm sorry, Booth, I know how that bothers you."

He shook his head as if shaking off the situation. "No, no. I mean it bothers me, it does, but I'm more worried about blowing our cover right now than his love life."

"Yes." They sat in silence for after that, just long enough for a sense of awkwardness to start to grow.

"Way to think on your feet by the way, Bones, that was..." He let his words drift off unable to really say what he was thinking with the exception of hot, it was extremely hot. So, he just gave her an approving nod as he struggled to keep his mind from reliving the last five minutes in a sexually frustrating but seductive loop. It was easier to change the subject. They would take turns changing, meet up for a much needed drink, and exchange what they learned throughout the evening.

She took the bathroom first, he waited, checking out what possibilities the minibar held to knock down his level of tension. Pulling his bow tie loose and letting it hang around his neck Booth was ready to get out of his head and checking out this upscale room was a great place to start. He unbuttoned the top couple buttons of his shirt and untucked it as he explored. Plush rugs, soft couch, about a million throw pillows, large fireplace, personal hot tub looking out over the lush landscape and starry sky, they thought of everything here. It was a wonder couples ever left their room. Slipping off his shoes felt like heaven, the comfort of which brought a long sigh of relief. This was good and as undercover jobs went this was way better than an old beat up RV with Buck and Wanda painted across it in too many ways to count.

It was his name drawn out in a long whine that pulled his attention back to her.

"Booth." He set a couple of glasses down on the coffee table that spread out between a big overstuffed couch and a large open brick fireplace. "Booth, I need your help." He finished turning the gas jets to the fireplace on and watched with satisfaction as flames shot up through the logs.

"Hey, Bones, whatcha need?"

"You." It was too short of an answer and her tone was off, perturbed. And then she completely surprised him by flinging the bathroom door open. "The zipper is stuck." His eyes grew wide and he stumbled back a step. He looked to her side where she pointed to the problem. "I can't get it from this angle. I need your help." The long offending zipper lay tight to her ribcage where it followed the gentle curve to her waist and down her hip. Holy mother of Jesus was this night ever going to end? It was on gigantic minefield of temptation.

"Okay, okay, yeah, we can do this, right?" He stammered as his fingers fumbled with the small little pull. "Yeah, well, wow, that's really stuck, Bones."

"I know that, Booth, that's why I called you in here. I tried everything I could." She had her arm up in the air and he leaned down trying to get a better look at it as he fiddled.

"Stop moving, Bones." He grabbed her waist and pulled her back closer. Holding and tugging he made only little bits of progress at a time. It was starting to work or at least he thought it was until the zipper popped partially opened in the middle revealing a creamy patch of smooth skin. Some how he made it worse.

"Booth." Long and drawn out, his name echoed in the tile covered bathroom. She was definitely not happy.

"I know, I know. Don't worry, I'll fix it." Now the backs of his fingers were brushing up against her bare skin, tickling, tempting. "But you have to stop moving, Bones." Back and forth they bickered as Booth worked on the zipper until a knock on the door halted their progress. Before he could even move to answer it a neatly uniformed man came strolling into the room without announcing himself. He proceeded to move towards the bed turning down the covers.

"Don't mind me." His casual dismissal of Booth and his partner set them both on edge. They eyed each other in the bathroom mirror with their mutual disapproval. It was so offputting that the small talk the man tried to engage them in didn't even register.

"Excuse me." Booth was in no mood and Bones was indisposed trying to hold her dress together as the man moved casually around the room.

"Sorry, sir, I am just running a little late on my rounds this evening."

Booth put forth a hand which landed square on the smaller man's chest. Looking down at the gold embossed name tag he called him by name. "Frank, that's your name, right? Frank?" The man nodded vigorously. "Good. Frank, we came here for privacy and we expect it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Frank's voice was cheery despite Booth's threatening form looming over him.

"You knock on this door and then you wait for an answer before you enter, got it? No more barging in here." Frank didn't seem to really comprehend Booth's insistence that he respect their personal space.

"I apologize. Oh, wait, I have something that will make it all better. I think you'll like it." His voice oozed excitement, shallow fake excitement. Booth would later compare it to an infomercial salesman or game show host. Neither example registered with his partner. Both went on a long mental list Booth had compiled over the years that started with get Bones a TV. The partners exchanged another look of disbelief as Frank bustled out the door back into the hall. He returned quickly with a bottle of high end scotch shoving it into Booth's hands. "Ah, don't worry about thanking me, sir. The bartender's a buddy of mine. He told me it was your favorite tonight." He winked and gave Booth a knowing smile as if the two shared the long history of an inside joke.

He rambled for a few more minutes and then the spindly little man left closing the door behind him, leaving the two more than a little dumbfounded. Booth set the scotch down next to the glasses and came back to finish helping his partner with her dress. Frank would be the first on his list of suspects to discuss after he got her damn zipper fixed so she could change.

A/N

So...what do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

It felt good to sit down on the overstuffed couch and watch the fire. Comfortable bed shorts and tank top, her feet curled up underneath her, a cup of hot tea, the sound of the shower running in the background, a few deep breaths, and she was lost in thought. Booth. Every thought came back to Booth. Which she found both invigorating and terrifying. She could still feel the force of his body pressed up against hers, solid, strong, unyielding. The memory of his breath on her skin. His calloused hands against her soft smooth skin. The power and tenderness of his touch. It stirred in her a raging desire that would not be denied.

Booth stopped short at the sight of her. Letting the towel he was rubbing his hair dry with fall limp in his hand. Leaning back against the open doorway to the bathroom he watched her. Warm flames from the fireplace created an ethereal glow around her as she held her teacup with both hands up close to her lips. She would breathe out across the surface of the cup several times before taking a little sip. She was predictable in the most beautiful ways. This, between them, was getting harder and harder. His feelings for her, holding them in, rationalizing them, dismissing them, nothing worked anymore. Work, he reminded himself, we're here to work. He shook it all off, forcing it away.

"Hey." Booth set his note cards and pen on the coffee table and settled on the other end of the couch. "So you ready to get down to business, Bones?" One long deep sigh and she uncurled herself.

"Yes."

"Personally, I think good ol' Frank needs to go straight to the top of the list."

"I was thinking about that while you were in the shower, Booth. I believe Frank was just doing his job. In a finer establishment like this one he stands to make significantly more in tips than his regular salary by giving special attention to those he serves."

"Nope." Booth paused to reconsider her explanation of the quirky attendant's behavior. "Not buyin' it, Bones. My gut says there's something off about him. And he's in the perfect position. He's got access to everyone's room. Three different ladies. Three different time frames. Same M.O., right?"

"Yes, same weapon, same drugs, same form of disposal."

"I mean, I wouldn't rule out a guest but an employee makes more sense. Who ever it was had to be here for each of those disappearances."

"True. An employee would have better access. Maybe Angela can create an algorithm that will enable us to know which employees and patrons were here during all of the disappearances and their corresponding dates. It could narrow the field."

"Excellent idea, Bones." Leaning forward Booth grabbed his note cards and pen and started scribbling.

"The women are quite territorial." She jumped in while he was still writing on his note cards. Her eyes sparked in amusement as she told Booth her observations. "Some of them have been coming here for years with their respective lovers and appeared to be quite knowledgeable with regard to the nature and personality of various women. They congregated into smaller subgroups in the ladies room on and off throughout the evening. I have no proof that their meetings were intentional but they did seem orchestrated and purposeful. Exchanging information and details, they are very aggressive in their portrayals of other couples, especially other females."

"Sounds like one of those nature shows Parker loves where the lion eats the natives."

"Though not a very common way to die it does happen. Roughly seventy people a year are killed by lions. In this case it would be lionesses, not lions." She laughed, amused by her zoomorphic portrayal of the female guests as lionesses. "I believe the alpha female is named Marilyn and she's here with someone named John." Booth smiled.

"That's not her real name, Bones." Bones looked confused. "Marilyn Monroe? JFK? Ring any bells? No?" He could see the answer clearly in her blank expression. "Like we're not really Bogart and Bacall."

"Ah." Brennan often found her own ignorance to cultural references frustrating and was anxious to move on. "She invited me to join her at the spa tomorrow." Bones smiled broadly knowing the invitation was significant.

"That's great." Booth was scribbling on his note cards and she couldn't resist the urge to lean over and see what he was writing.

Every one of his senses snapped to high alert as her body pressed up against his and she leaned across him. Her clean freshly showered scent. Her body warm, pliable. Her hair, still damp from her shower tickled and teased as it dragged along his arm. Overwhelmed by her proximity he found himself stifling his own deep guttural reaction by swallowing hard against the tension in his throat.

"Bones." He was sure it came out as a whimpering plea.

"Hmmm?" Turning to answer left their faces close. There was no space between them.

"I can't...um...write." She pulled back a little and smiled.

"What about the men?" One thing she knew about Booth, he would never cheat or be unfaithful to anyone he was dating and had no respect for those who did. These men weren't honorable or loyal to their spouses. To one degree or another they were all on his list of suspects.

"Not much. A lot of posturing and dick measuring. While you're off doing your girlie spa thing I think I'll hit the golf course."

"What about your friend? How are you going to keep your cover?"

"I have an idea how to fix that actually. If you're game I'll run it by Hacker in the morning." She let herself fall back against the couch rolling her head to the side so she could see Booth. She was beautiful. The fire danced in her eyes and all he wanted to do was lay her down on this couch and kiss every inch of her body. Clearing his throat Booth continued. "Okay, so rather than pretend we're totally different people, which we can't really do because of Don, we could be us." She looked confused. "We could say that we're together...romantically…like an actual couple."

"But we aren't." His eyes searched hers. Stormy and unsettled, he swore there was a painful longing in them. "The FBI won't allow it." She reminded him.

"Exactly." Forcing a sense of triumph he glossed over how close this ruse would be to the real life he wanted. The one he hoped she wanted also. "The FBI won't allow it so we have to sneak around. See? Right? We could say that we heard about this place and it sounded perfect. We could come here and relax and be together and no one would know." She looked hesitant. "It'll work, trust me. Hacker and Cullen will sign off on it and then if Don goes to them and says anything about seeing us here they can tell him it was just our cover."

He was very satisfied with his idea. Lifting his arm up he stretched it out across the back of the couch. She didn't answer or acknowledge his plan with anything more than murmured approval. Her mind immediately wandered off to consider what that reality might be like for them. Secret lovers sneaking off for a weekend away from the suspicious eyes of their friends and colleagues. The flames jumped and flickered in the fireplace as she settled into Booth's side with her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. It would be so easy, so natural to turn and kiss her forehead, to let his arm fall from the back of the couch, to let his hand wander along her side. But it would change everything between them and the risk of that change seemed far too dangerous until he was sure she wanted it too.

"Bones." He whispered softly against her forehead. Testing his own ability to resist temptation. "We should probably get some sleep." A disgruntled protest was all Booth got as his sleepy partner wiggled herself in closer. "Bones, baby, it's bedtime." It was a slip of the tongue and Booth held his breath waiting for her disapproval of the endearment to rain down upon him.

"Shhh." Her hand came up instinctively to rub away the tickle of his breath on her skin connecting first with the stubble on his face. Rough, bristly, scruff startled her awake. Jumping, she apologized profusely. "Booth, I'm...I didn't mean to...I'm sorry-" He cut off her apologetic rant with reassurance and his warm smile.

Note cards and pens were safely tucked away. Tumblers and teacups set aside. When there was nothing left to put in order they found themselves standing on opposite sides of the big king sized bed staring it down, exchanging glances, fidgeting with sheets and blankets, stalling. They were both adults and capable of sharing one king sized bed they reminded each other. After all, they shared a much smaller bed while undercover in the circus. They managed that. They would manage this.

"Mistletoe, right?"

"Totally sexless."

And yet they hesitated before awkwardly slipping in between the sheets on opposite edges of the bed.

"Goodnight, Booth." Her voice was tender as she rolled over, facing away from him.

"Night, Bones." He echoed into the darkness as he also turned away.

Awkward silence prevailed along with jerked movements and deep sighs of frustration until Booth rolled over onto his back. Stretching his arms up, lacing his fingers together beneath his head, he offered his confession.

"I can't sleep." It was a surrender. He rolled his head sideways towards her. She was already turning over to face him.

"Neither can I." Letting out a long sigh she tucked her hands under her pillow up by her cheek. Wiggling as she tried to settle.

Streams of moonlight cut through the darkness peeking through gaps in the heavy drapes. Staring at each other in that dim light they laughed nervously at their own stiffness. She was beautiful in the moonlight and he smiled as she rattled off facts about the physicality of sleep cycles and dreams and rest, none of which he foresaw happening in the near future. Booth listened intently rolling his whole body to face her.

"The notion of catching up on sleep is actually a misnomer. Studies have proven one cannot catch up on sleep. Sleep lost is just that."

"That's a little depressing, Bones." His eyes caught hers in the moonlight stopping her momentarily before she gave him a slight nod and continued.

"While a lack of sleep can influence depression I assume that isn't what you're implying." A twitch of her lips, a slight nervous smile, a deep breath, things were different between them, this was different. For the first time he saw it in her eyes, it wasn't wishful thinking, it wasn't his imagination or some kind of blind hope. It was there, tangible, real. Which made resisting it nearly impossible.

"Pops asked about you the other day, wants to know when you're comin' to visit him." An abrupt change of subject brought with it a quizzical look from his partner. His mind had travelled from sleep, to this change between them, to Pops hounding him about his relationship with Bones, to the old man's not so slick way of trying to push the two together.

"How's he doing?" She scooted a little closer towards the center of the bed, a little closer towards Booth.

"Good." She watched the worry in his eyes as he answered. "He seems happy. Happier I guess than before but, you know, maybe he just decided he liked it better there than he thought he did." Booth adjusted his position just a bit so he could see her better. "He has a lot of friends there."

"I know." Chuckling at her own mischievousness as she continued. "He told me all about his crocheting buddies."

"Bones." Booth was genuinely horrified.

"Age does not negate sexual need or desire, Booth." Still trying to squelch his own sexual desires as he lay in bed with the very object of his affection he didn't want to think about sex at all. Though thinking of his pops "crocheting" certainly dampened the mood.

"Bones." It came out just a little louder and higher pitched, a cross between begging and whining. She absolutely delighted in his obvious discomfort on the subject. Her victory, however, was short lived. "I am sure you don't want to be thinking about your grandparents...crocheting." He threw back, surprised when she suddenly turned somber.

"If I had grandparents I am sure I would not be bothered by their interest in sexual encounters, it is, and should be, a natural and healthy part of the human experience." It was classic Bones from the way she said it to the casualness with which she mentioned her lack of family.

"If?" A definite move this time, he came much closer, close enough for her to see both confusion and concern in his eyes.

"I never knew my grandparents, Booth. Max says he really only considered my mother's parents family and it was too risky to visit once he took our family on the run." Even as she said it her mind flipped back through years of conversations. He watched as her whole body cringed at the realization.

When they were first partners, early on, they worked a case that involved a couple of foster kids. Booth was a great investigator, better than she anticipated. She never volunteered the information but in the process of the case he figured out she was in the foster system herself as a teenager. When it was all over he called her on it, apologized for not knowing, for assuming she had no personal frame of reference for her brash statements and insistent demands in defense of those brothers.

She told him she was only in the system until her grandfather got her out. It was a subject she avoided, her time as a foster child rarely came up and when it did he always respected her desire not to talk about it. Having never corrected the lie, she felt suddenly guilty.

"I lied, I lied about my grandfather getting me out."

"No, don't, it's okay, Bones. You were...we were new, you know, as partners and you're a very private person." As much as she withdrew before she felt pulled back in by his kindness and understanding. Drawn to scoot just a little closer to Booth in full acceptance of the comfort he offered her she moved once more towards the center of the bed.

"I just...I didn't...I -"

"I get it."

"I just couldn't..." Her voice trailed off as she felt his finger run along the edges of a small scar on her upper arm. She found herself breathless, mindless in the wake of his gentle touch.

This last little move put her right into the faint stream of moonlight. Illuminating the small scar close to her shoulder where Gormogon's teeth as shrapnel were imbedded in her skin. "We sure have been through a lot since then, haven't we?" Booth's voice was soft, almost absent, as he spoke letting his fingers continue to trace the scar.

"Yes." Her voice thready. Booth watched with interest the heavy rise and fall of her chest. "We have." She barely breathed out.

Letting his hand travel down her arm to her hands he fiddled with her fingers until he found what he knew was her grandmother's ring. She wore it religiously ever since her father gave it to her. It was one of the only physical connections to family she owned.

As he let his fingers brush over her ring and her long graceful fingers he started to talk, to tell her stories of his childhood, of his life with his grandparents. Through the soft even strokes of his fingers and the warm deep timbre of his voice she couldn't help but feel lulled, cradled in the simplest most innocent way. He carried her away among sleepy visions of a young Booth learning to cook pancakes standing on a chair at his grandmother's hip. Watching her knit him colorful striped socks. Tucked under the sink with Pops learning to fix the plumbing. Booth was a man built on memories. Personal history and interactions were everything to him.

Her heavy eyelids opened and closed slowly as she drifted along the edge of a deep and peaceful sleep amid thoughts of their memories together. Booth and her fixing his plumbing earlier in the year. Mumbling, barely conscious, she curled in even closer. His hand hovered protectively over hers that night, like it did now, completely enveloping it as they waited for the purple glue holding the pipes together to dry. Their brief moment of triumph, the spray of water when the seal broke, his laughter. Even in a sleepy haze her mind made connections at an alarming rate.

"I'm so sorry, Booth." It wasn't losing his memory of how to fix the plumbing that bothered him, she realized. It was losing something his grandfather taught him.

"What for?" He whispered back but she was already gone, too asleep to answer. He smiled at their hands locked together, intertwined fingers, tucked up between their bodies. Leaning in he kissed her fingers lightly before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N Thank you so much for reading and for all the wonderful reviews and encouragements! The response has been humbling!

It is one crazy month here in my life. In the first week of June we have an 8th grader graduating, a daughter graduating from high school, another daughter turning 20 and another daughter getting married. HOWEVER...I became obsessed with this story last week and already have the next chapter written! I'm pretty excited about that and I have it on good authority that the chapter doesn't suck!

In case you're wondering where the the title of this story comes from it goes back to season 3 episode 9 The Santa in the Slush and a conversation in the diner between Sweets, Brennan and Booth. As they're talking to Sweets about the mistletoe kiss Booth says "it was mistletoe" to which Bones adds "totally sexless" - it's a wonderful interaction and the inspiration for this story.

Thank you craftyjhawk and snowybones for all the feedback and editing 3

Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think of this little chapter

~DG


	3. Chapter 3

"Booth." Pulling in close she whispered directly into his ear. Warm breath, soft lips, brushing against his earlobe, Booth tried to focus on his breathing. "Fondle me." He choked as he felt her hands grab his and place them firmly on her hips, holding them there.

"W-wha-" She smiled, reveling in his reaction and obvious effect she was having on him. He was so daring their first night at the resort, bold, but now he seemed so distant and reserved. She attributed the change to Booth's intense focus on working this case. It wasn't the first time that she felt pushed to remind him their cover needed just as much attention as the case or both would be lost.

"Fondle me." She reiterated with a touch of annoyance in her voice. "All the other couples are engaged in-"

"I get it, okay? I get it." His hands played along her hips, slipping along the silky sheer cover up, brushing up against the thick edge of her bathing suit. Meeting at the pool to have lunch and exchange information suddenly seemed like a tactical error.

"Our cover won't be believable if we do-" He jerked her body, slamming it up against his own, and holding her there. Her head fell back as the sound of pure titillation escaped her long arched throat and vibrated through his entire body. Booth laughed, positive he heard her make a passionate appeal to deity.

"Is that better, Bones?" He whispered against her neck as he made his way up to the base of her ear.

"Yes." She answered several times over. It was hard to differentiate whether her response was an answer to his question or she was begging for more.

Booth backed her up against a column of their small private cabana where he continued the show for all those watching. Taking a little too much pleasure in her inability to answer his questions about her morning. She was lost in his touch, struggling to string together words and thoughts.

" _Not so easy to think now, is it?"_ He thought as he pulled back, flashed his disarming smile, and winked at her. It wasn't a question he would ask aloud. They never talked openly about the effect of their physical contact. It was more of a game they played, had played for years. Grabbing her hand, he seated her at the table where their lunch was soon to be served. He moved his chair close to hers and sat down beside her, draping his arm across the back of her chair.

From where they sat they could survey the whole pool area. Individual cabanas lined the pool with curtains that could be drawn for privacy or pulled back. She took in every detail, scanning the space until she felt Booth's calloused fingers brush lightly against her cheek as he swooped little wisps of hair and tucked them behind her ear. It felt so natural, so comforting and innocent. It was easy to get lost in his touch as she fell into his warm brown eyes. This is what it would be like if there was a "them" if they were a couple. They would have their moments of passion, that was undeniable, but their day to day would be filled with Booth cherishing her. She was sure of it. What concerned her, what tripped her as she danced along the edge of their well established line, was her inability to give him what he deserved in return. She feared there was nothing she could offer him and it scared her.

"You okay, Bones?" He caught her lost in thought and regret. She smiled.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" She answered matter of factly.

"I don't know. It seemed like I lost you there for a minute."

She looked around the cabana. It was outfitted with a double wide lounge chair with a thick comfortable mattress that could recline all the way back, making it flat. There was a matching one in each of the little huts. Along with a bedside table on each side to hold drinks and reading materials.

"We should spend some time here this afternoon, Booth. This spot is quite advantageous." She was right. The pool area was a hub, an intersection where paths to almost all the other activities offered by the resort converged. Each cabana was labeled. From theirs hung a little wooden sign that read Bogart and Bacall in gold lettering. It would be theirs to use throughout their stay.

"I wonder how often they recycle names?" Booth was thinking aloud. "I mean clearly we aren't the first to use Bogart and Bacall." He nodded, motioning towards the ornately crafted sign.

"I think I might know the answer to that." She slid her hand along Booth's thigh feeling his muscles tense and twitch under her hand. "Marilyn was telling me that she and her lover have had their code names since they started coming the Queen Anne some years ago." Between her wandering hands and his attentive gestures she was sure they looked as engaged and romantic as any other couple at the pool. With the possible exception of those whose silhouettes collided in passion behind closed curtains. "She said the owners gave her the name because she looked so similar to the blond actress when she was younger. A couple of other ladies expressed similar experiences."

"Did she say if they are the only ones to use that name? Were there others?"

"I don't know." She stopped short. Frank was headed towards them pushing a rolling cart. It was their lunch. Her gaze followed him as he hustled around the cabana making an exaggerated show of his every move.

"I noticed you didn't touch your scotch, sir. I hope there isn't a problem with it." Frank remarked after Booth turned his wine glass over indicating he didn't want to be served alcohol. "The bartender assured me it was your drink of choice."

"No, no problem." Purposefully keeping his answer short Booth reached and turned over Bone's glass also. "Hey, you know, we're feeling a little dehydrated can we get a couple bottles of water?" Booth squeezed her hand under the table cutting short the beginning of what was sure to be a protest from his independently minded partner. Frank was off and running in loyal service when Booth leaned over to give her very pointed instructions.

"Don't drink anything he serves you, Bones, unless it's sealed." Booth was clear and concise though he talked in hushed tones. "Anything, got it?"

"Booth." She protested.

"I'm serious, Bones, nothing, at least not until we clear him as a suspect. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that all three women we-" Booth cut himself short, watching as Frank approached quickly, running back with two bottles of water. "Hey, I have a question." Booth turned his attention to the scrawny man. "We are huge Casablanca fans and Bogart and Bacall is just perfect for us. We were wondering if we could keep the same names for our next visit?"

"I'm glad to hear you two will be coming back, sir." Booth noted that the man didn't seem winded at all. He was small, definitely, but seemed much stronger than he appeared. "I believe you can secure the name by talking to the front desk."

They ate under the watchful eye of Frank who appeared dead set on being overly attentive. Their only time alone was orchestrated by asking him to run one errand or another for them. It wasn't until Booth made it clear that they wanted some privacy that he made his way over to the small wicker shelving unit which held towels and flat sheets as well as light blankets. Setting up the cabana for a more intimate experience before pulling the drapes closed and bowing out. Fresh sheets spread over the lounge chair, pillows fluffed, a little docking station with speakers for an ipod, lotion and massage oils from the spa, as well as two fresh unopened bottles of water, Frank thought of everything.

Booth stood and an made his way over to the bedside table where he slid his ipod into place and selected a playlist. Soft music filled the space. It would make it easier for them to talk back and forth while making it harder for someone to listen in. When it was all set, he motioned for Bones to join him.

"People can see our silhouettes." She worried aloud.

"I know." He answered confidently. Tugging her lightly into his arms, he held her loosely as he swayed their bodies softly back and forth to the music. Both were acutely aware of how they looked from the outside of the covered cabana. He watched his side for possible eavesdroppers and interlopers, she watched hers. This was how they would share what they gained from their morning escapades.

"Did you find Don?" Booth ignored her question for the moment.

"This mistletoe thing we do, I have to know you're still okay with it." She looked up at him. Their eyes met as they both looked for something they couldn't quite pin down.

"I'm fine, Booth."

Of course she would be fine, he thought, she's the rational one. Foreplay and sex are strictly biological to her so, for her, there would be no question about how these intense feelings, these acts of intimacy, should be interpreted. Work, it was all just part of their undercover job. He let his hand travel down her leg from her waist. It wasn't the least bit rational for him. He wanted to feel every bit of it. And when her eyes fell shut and she hummed her approval of his touch he had a hard time believing her reaction was as clinical as she claimed it was.

"Good." He whispered against her neck. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to actually kiss you before we solve this case."

"Uh-huh."

She felt his hands cling to the bottom of her cover up. Felt the tug as he gathered it up in his fists and started to lift it up over her body. His fingers teased as they dragged along every curves of her body and she longed for a firmer touch, the deliberate press of his skin against hers. She lifted her arms languidly above her head and felt the cool fabric slide effortlessly from her body. She would never admit it but she wanted more. She wanted all of it, all of Booth. Reality was cold and hard. He wasn't hers.

"I didn't go to the golf course." He admitted once he was sure her attention was back to the case. "I went to the shooting range instead."

"That makes sense. It's a good place to exhibit dominance over the other men." He laughed.

"That's not why I went." He explained. "I wanted Don to find me so it didn't look like I was...uh...like I was...looking for him." It was her turn. Carefully unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time. Pressing in against his chest like she was kissing him as she worked her way down his torso. This was how they did it, near kisses, never on the lips, enough to keep up the rouse. "I...I figured if he recognized me last night...that...he would either seek me out to explain himself or purposefully avoid me to keep his own secret." He tried to spit out the information as quickly as possible. She rose back up and rested her hands on his bare chest.

"Did he?" Booth held her hands to his chest.

"Yeah." He needed to get her as much information as he could before he set her hand free to wander. "Yes, yes, he did. He acted like it was nothing, you know, how's the job? How's Parker? Are you here on assignment? Trying to get as much information as he could." She wiggled her hands free and slipped them under his shirt along his shoulders.

"What did you tell him?"

"Oh, you know, just what we talked about it." Booth tried to sound unaffected by her touch but he kept taking deep breaths and letting them out in the oddest places while he talked. She smiled mischieviously as she watched him fidget, adjusting his weight back and forth, looking everywhere but at her.

"How did he take it? Did he seem convinced?"

His shirt fell from his shoulders just as his eyes connected completely with hers, locked in this shared dance of denial, following hers as they traveled down his chest to his hips where his swimsuit hung low. The definition of every muscle, every dip and flat plane, was perfect, strong, lean, not over built, perfect, he was perfect.

"He...uh...yeah, he bought it." Pulling away she held his hand as she headed to the lounge chair, lying down and pulling him up over her. "He wished us luck." Booth settled to her side but was still leaning over her, his arms keeping the majority of his weight off of her. "Said you were beautiful." Reaching up he tenderly addressed each little wisp of hair that settled around her face when she laid down, gently tucking them back.

"Good." She wiggled underneath him until he was settled between her legs. Her final adjustments evoking the deep guttural approval of both of them. "Mistletoe." She breathed out, her eyes closed, her hands clinging to his shoulders in desperation. He wasn't sure if it was uttered for his benefit or her own, though, he certainly felt the need of the reminder himself.

Clearing his throat he waited until her attention was focused back on him.

"Sexless." Booth let his forehead fall to hers and they both laughed at the absurdity. It was just the break they needed from the intensity of their circumstances.

Booth rolled them holding her hips in his hands firmly as she towered up above him. He swallowed hard. She fell forward bracing herself with her hands of either side of his shoulders so they could talk and not worry about being overheard.

He whispered of schedules and code names, having caught a good look at the registry for the shooting range and the golf course. He wondered aloud about characters who were notoriously unfaithful. If some man went by Tiger Woods, a name he saw on the schedule, did that mean each of the different mistresses he brought to the Queen Anne were named for his mistresses in real life. Bones was able to confirm that as he listed off some of the mistresses he knew about from new outlets. Similarly, there were women who were known to have had more than one male lover. They started compiling a mental list of name and faces. They would make a point of hovering around those couples at dinner and after dinner.

One thing they could do was match Don to his codename and his mistress, whose real name he let slip when he was talking to Booth. Don asked Booth to join him and a small group of men for a round of golf in the morning. It wasn't much but it was a start. A few more slips of the tongue and they might actually be gaining some traction. Any head way in this convoluted case was hard earned progress.

"This place just reaffirms the transitory nature of emotions and relationships." Bones let herself slip down and settle into Booth's side as she drew concentric patterns absently on his bare chest. "Marilyn and her friends have been coming here for years with the same men but all of them are mistresses. None of them are in monogamous their relationships. They were speaking about several other women that used to come here regularly but they haven't seen in quite sometime. Apparently, the men they used to come with have all been seen here with younger women."

"Bones" Booth whispered as he craned his neck to the side in an effort to see her better. She was seeing the extreme end of her own philosophies on relationships and it was a jarring experience. "Not all relationships are that way."

"I don't know." She hesitated. "It sure seems like the odds are never in favor of love as you have described it to me."

"Hmm." Booth hummed as he rolled them once more tucking her safely underneath him. She arched her body instinctively, reaching to keep that close connection she'd been sharing with him. "Don't judge love and relationships by this place." He insisted, looking her straight in the eye. "This place exists to exploit all the things that can go wrong in a relationship." She nodded against his chest. "Promise me, Bo-"

Her lips connected with his as she stifled his endearment for her before Frank could hear it. That one kiss, closed and frantic, led to another, open, softer, and begged a third, deep and passionate, full of desire and need, pushing the boundaries they long ago set for themselves. Booth cradled her face in his hand, his fingers dipping into her silky loose curls, she clung to him.

Frank stood in the corner of the cabana watching, clearing his throat loudly to get their attention.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but I wanted to remind you of your dinner reservations in one hour in the main dining room. The chef has prepared several wonderful options for you tonight…" His voice trailed off, completely ignored, as the pair struggled to pull themselves back from total abandon.

Booth fell onto his back, his heart racing wildly, his hand still splayed out protectively across her tummy. After dismissing Frank he curled back into his partner. They laughed softly, struggled to catch their breath, and took turns peeking at one another hoping to garnish some kind of insight into what the other was feeling or thinking, but neither of them said a word.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Hello! It's wedding week here! Well, first we have a birthday and one more graduation tonight, my youngest daughter graduates from high school. Then my oldest daughter gets married tomorrow! Luckily I'm ahead on this story so I can still post something this week! Writing this has been great fun. Thank you, as always, for the wonderful support and encouragement in the form of messages and reviews. They certainly fuel my desire to write! I promise once this week is over to try and catch up on thanking all you lovely readers for your reviews.

A special thank you to the person who signed in as guest and left such a kind review for Seven Days: An Experiment in Making Love I have no way of contacting you to thank you for your review but wanted you to know how much your review meant to me - especially in the middle of this crazy week! Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

Booth leaned casually up against the back corner of the elevator, his legs crossed at his ankles, hands jammed deep down in his pockets fiddling with one token or another. Bones stood dead center staring straight up at the long string of floor numbers as they lit up one at a time. As soon as the door closed Booth started talking.

"We're putting Marilyn and her buddies on the suspect list." He waited for a reaction from his partner who was completely absorbed in thought. "What are their names again?"

"Sophia Loren and Ann-Margaret." Brennan seemed confused by Booth's suggestion. "Why?"

"Really?" Booth chuckled. They spent a good part of the evening with these couples, Don and his mistress, and several other couples.

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, Bones, they seem pretty bitter about those other ladies getting dumped."

"They're all mistresses themselves why would they care if a man left one mistress for another? It isn't rational. In fact, I would think it's to be expected, after all, monogamy obviously isn't a priority to them. So, why would they even be considered? It seems they'd have no motive." She turned and looked back over her shoulder at Booth.

"Jealousy, betrayal, bitterness are very powerful emotions, Bones, and _emotions_ aren't always rational. _Sometimes_ , people can't help the way they feel. _Sometimes_ , it clouds their judgement and makes them do irrational things."

Her head tilted slightly to the side as she folded her arms defiantly across her chest. Those stormy eyes overflowing with emotion and what looked like pain. She knew he was talking about more that just a band of disgruntled women. The bell dinged, the elevator doors opened, and before she could even take a step she felt Booth's hand on her back ushering her forward. A tiny bit of smile crept up on one side of her lips. He mirrored her with one of his own.

It was a rough evening. Kissing, even though it preserved their identities from Frank, tipped some sort of emotional scale and both of them felt out of balance. The mounting tension led to a long night of bickering starting early in the evening at dinner.

"You shouldn't eat that." He let his fork and knife fall to his plate making a loud tinging noise.

"Really? It's just a steak, a really good steak. It's not going to kill me."

"It may not kill you today but eating habits can greatly impact your life in the future and not exclusively by shortening your lifespan. Studies have found a correlation between consumption of red meats and erectile dysfunction."

"Seriously? Trust me, I do not have _any_ problem...with that...in that...particular area, okay?" He shot her a look. "And we're not discussing it anymore, got it?" He was leaned in over the table, pointing at her with his fork, his jaw popping with tension, but all she saw were those lips.

It had been over two years since they kissed under that mistletoe. Two years. She was sure that she couldn't go another two years without kissing him again. No matter what she did to distract herself, to rationalize away the experience and feelings associated with kissing him in that cabana earlier in the day, it wouldn't go away. She couldn't stop thinking about those kisses and she wasn't alone. Booth suffered the same fate. The feel, the taste, the connection were undeniable, the whole experience made him long for more.

Playing the romantic couple didn't help matters. They were close to one another all evening, always touching. She even ended up sitting on his lap at one point in the evening when there weren't enough chairs for all of their group. His arms wrapped around her, his hand on her hip, holding her steady, the feel of his fingers playing with her dress, it was transfixing. The hovering and attentiveness, the soft touches and peck like kisses everywhere but the lips, ignited a spark between them that ultimately lead no where. There would be no release for them. It was all mistletoe, totally undeniably, horribly, sexless. So, she picked at what he ate and drank. She corrected every little blunder while he became over protective. Repeatedly wrapping his jacket around her to keep her warm as she shrugged and twisted out of it because she wasn't even remotely cold. Booth insisted on checking her drinks and wouldn't let her go anywhere alone.

"We have no idea who the killer is, Bones." His hushed voice filled her ear with his worries. "I am not letting you out of my sight." His eyes were wide and he gave her a knowing nod expecting one in return. All he got was low growl of discontent and the hard roll of her beautiful blue eyes.

Together, they were in rare form, turning heads, inspiring long stares, attracting attention wherever they went.

The minute they cleared the elevator doors the bickering started back up as they made their way down the hall to their room. Pausing one argument momentarily to fight over who should open the door, both ready with key in hand, battling for dominance. As soon as she shoved her key in the door Booth started right back where they left off.

"No. Just, no. Men aren't like women in the restroom, okay? There are rules and one of them is no talking at the urinals, okay? Whatever you wanna find out about Marilyn you're just gonna have to ask her yourself. I'm not cozying up to anyone at the urinal and asking questions."

"Rules? I don't believe that's true."

"Yes, rules, important rules that just can't be broken, okay? Foundation of society kind of rules."

"I have to agree with Mr. Bogart, mam." Frank startled them. Booth grabbed Bones' arm and tugged. In one seamless move she was standing behind him and his arm was out stretched protectively in front of her.

"What the hell?" Booth was not happy about the intrusion which came across abundantly clear.

The room was dimly lit, their personal hot tub was roaring with bubbles, beside the tub sat a bottle of champagne on ice with two beautiful flutes next to it. Frank was finishing lighting the last of probably twenty or more candles of every shape and size scattered around the room. Booth groaned in disbelief. What he needed was a cold shower or maybe a dip in the Antarctic, not this. He groaned as he surveyed the perfectly romantic setting.

"Just an apology, sir, for interrupting you earlier." Frank winked and cleared his throat as if he was stifling a laugh. "What did you want to know about Miss Marilyn? Maybe I can help." With the door open and viable information on the other side, the romantic setup and Frank's intrusion were temporarily set aside.

"One of the _men_ we were talking to indicated to Mr. Bogart that Marilyn might be married. Which is why I think Mr. Bogart should find out what he meant." She shot Booth an irritated look. "It doesn't sound accurate from what she's told me about her relationship."

"Well, that is quite a story." Frank sounded excited for the opportunity to share. "Miss Marilyn was JFK's mistress for years, for as long as they've been coming here. Then his wife died unexpectedly. It wasn't long at all before he married Marilyn." Bones was listening intently and jumped in before Frank could continue with his story.

"How long ago?"

"Not even a year." Booth stood to the side, hands on his hips, watching the interaction. "They didn't have to sneak around anymore but she insisted they keep coming. She has friends here, good friends, they plan their trips so they're all here at the same time." Booth shot Bones a _told you so_ look, jealousy, bitterness, betrayal equals motive. Frank took a couple steps forward and leaned in just a little bit. "Rumor has it JFK bought the place but nobody really knows for sure if that's true." With that last statement Frank finished lighting the candles and was headed towards the bed when Booth interrupted him.

"Frank, stop, we can do that." Frank was insistent that it was his job to do it for them. Booth just wanted him gone. Pulling out his wallet and shuffling through the cash Booth pulled out a fifty. "If I give you this will you just leave...now... and promise not to come back tonight." Frank reached out his hand while Booth pulled the money back just a little out of Frank's reach, "promise?" Booth nodded and Frank gave a quick nod in return, smiled broadly, stuffed the fifty in his pocket, wished them both a good evening, and left.

Booth collapsed on the bed kicking his shoes off and letting them fall to the floor as he groaned with relief. When he looked around to see where Bones was he found her standing in the same spot looking around the room. There was a sadness as she huffed out a breath and moved to blow out the candles.

"Hey, Bones, why don't you leave 'em for right now." She turned, catching his gaze.

"Why? We have no need for them."

"They're pretty." Booth pulled himself up off the bed and headed towards her. "It's been a stressful day, you should take advantage of the hot tub, relax a little."

"Your day has been equally stressful." Booth nodded, giving her a soft smile. "Your feet have clearly been hurting you this evening...and your back. I can tell by your gait."

"Well, yeah, I guess I'm a little sore, maybe I will get in." Booth brushed by her and started digging around for his swim suit. Holding it up in triumph he headed for the bathroom to change.

It took a little prodding by Booth to get Bones to join him but eventually he won her over. For the first little while they just sat and talked about the case. They would email Angela and have her do some digging into the ownership of the Queen Anne. Booth would sneak a picture while Bones distracted Marilyn. With facial recognition software they would find Marilyn's real name, same for her group of friends. They needed to find out more about the men connected to the three murdered women too. Marilyn talked of tennis in the morning. They would start there. Case temporarily set aside Booth watched her, her hands moving gracefully back and forth through the water.

"Hey, you know what? Why don't you come over here and I'll massage your shoulders."

"It's okay, Booth, I'm fine."

"I don't know, they seem awfully tense to me." She was tense, her shoulders tight and raised up close to her jaw. "C'mere." She looked at him skeptically. "Hey, I let you fix my back, right? I trust you enough to do that. So you should trust me to rub your shoulders." He made a good argument, there was a simple logic to it. More than once she helped him with his back. Still she was hesitant. Physical contact was a double edged sword, she wanted it, craved it, but it only seemed to complicate their partnership and friendship.

"There's no room in here."

"Sure there is."

Reaching out he grabbed her hand. A thrill went through her. Already she felt her heart pounding just a little bit harder in response to his touch. Turning her around he settled her between his legs with her back to his chest. His hands moved temporarily to her hips to adjust her into a good position. A satisfied hum escaped as his hands accidently slipped under the top part of her tankini swimsuit.

He wanted to tell her he loved her. Enough time passed, the recovery from his surgery was certainly past the point where anything major was going to change in his brain. But Cam's words haunted him, _be sure_ , be really really _sure_. He was sure. And if he had any doubts, today at the pool made it clear that this, with her, was what he wanted more than anything. Booth loved her. The only question was did she love him.

His hands gathered her hair and gently moved it over her shoulder. It took everything in him to not lean down and kiss the base of her neck. It called to him, begged to be kissed. Booth's strong hands glided over her shoulders and up her neck where he worked his magic on the tense muscles at the base of her head. Every pleasurable sound she made encouraged him as he worked his way down her spine. It was sublime. And when he was done with her massage he felt her relaxed body and lean back into him until she was curled up in his arms. Neither of them were ready to break the magic of their connection so they talked and laughed. Her low laughter charmed him as it vibrated through his chest. The sense of safety and shelter she felt in his arms opened up a rare and beautiful side to her reserved for him, only him.

When they finally decided there was no other choice but to get out Booth was the first to stand. Reaching down he grabbed her hand to help her up. Her body brushed along his as she rose up out of the water until she stood right in front of him. Grabbing her hips to steady her, there was a moment where time seemed to completely stop. Their faces brushed lightly, their lips teased a memory while begging for more. Her hands came up and gripped his shoulders, demanding he stay right where he was. Their bodies leaned into one another creating an electrifying connection. And they fought, not each other, they fought themselves, individually. Trying to decide whether to let this moment pass or seize it, claim it as their own.

It seemed like forever as time dragged slowly past. And then all of a sudden it was over too quickly as they both dodged and separated. There would be no kiss, not tonight. Without a word they blew out candles and turned off the jets to the hot tub. They set glasses in the sink, even poured a little champagne down the drain so Frank would think they drank it. They changed out of wet swimsuits and into comfortable dry bed clothes all in silence, too contemplative to talk.

They were settled in bed before either of them said a word. In the dark, lying separately in between the sheets, Booth reached out his hand. It brushed innocently against her own. There it was again, the pulse of electricity firing between them, fueling their desire for more. They fiddled with each other's fingers, until they folded together, interlocking, holding on tight to one another.

"Good night, Booth ." Bones whispered sweetly.

"G'night, Bones." Booth answered in response.

They would relive that moment, that almost kiss, over and over before they slept. In every imaginary version, duty and responsibility lost, the candles stayed lit, bodies were tenderly explored, worshiped with every touch and each kiss. Lips grappled with lips, the taste and feel overwhelmed their senses and begged for more and more until they were as close as any two humans can be. Secretly, privately, they fell asleep dreaming of what could be between them, what they hoped one day to share.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you for all the well wishes, reviews, favorites, and follows! All the birthday candles are blown out, the graduates are graduated, the lovebirds married and celebrated! Now summer is officially here!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always I am anxious to hear for your feedback! It's like food for my little writer's heart 3


	5. Chapter 5

"Wakey wakey, Bones." Booth was sitting on the edge of the bed where Bones was sprawled out still sleeping. "Big day today! Places to go, people to see. Well, not really places to go unless you count tennis, which I don't, just so we're clear." Booth was not a fan of tennis. He'd been complaining about it since last night when they accepted Marilyn's invitation to play a doubles match. "It's a sport for privileged hoity toity types with names like Thurston or Winston or Spalding. I am _not_ that guy." Disdain was dripping from every exaggerated name he spit out. "Now racquetball, that's good or handball, definitely, but tennis, I hate tennis." He was prattling on as Bones grumbled and groaned trying to pull the covers back over her head.

Booth was up long before he woke her. He went running, lifted some weights, showered, and ordered breakfast. She slept soundly through it all.

For him, everything seemed to be better when he woke, not all the way back to normal, but better. He wasn't in some insane heightened state of arousal anymore, gone was the insatiable urge to nitpick or bicker. The same held true for his partner. She was so much more relaxed and happy, amused by his playfully animated mood. She smiled over the edge of her cup of coffee as she listened and watched. It felt good to just enjoy the morning, plan out their day, all with the ease that comes with years of familiarity and friendship.

That all changed when both of their cell phones started buzzing in quick succession. Both received the same urgent message from Angela demanding their immediate attention.

"Too much information to share - call us ASAP"

Booth positioned the laptop on the small coffee table and set up the secure link. The timing was perfect. Any later and they would've been rushed to meet with Beatrice. Frank assured them that Beatrice, although she wasn't the overall manager of the Queen Anne, was certainly the lady in charge. She'd been there longer than anyone on staff and would answer all their questions about reserving their aliases for future use. They hoped to ask her a few other questions. After that they were meeting Marilyn and friends for tennis. It would be a busy morning, and busy was exactly what they needed to keep their mind off each other and on the case.

When everything was set up Booth called Bones over. Wiggling in between the couch and coffee table she started to sink to the floor between his legs.

"Uh...Bones...you don't have to...uh…" Reaching out, he grabbed her hips to momentarily stop her. "You can sit here." Motioning with his chin he encouraged her beside him. "You don't have to sit on the floor."

"I'm perfectly fine sitting on the floor and we'll both have a better vantage point from which to view the screen." So logical, Bones was always thinking ahead. His hands followed her as she sank in between his knees sliding up her sides as she went down.

The problem, as he saw it, wasn't that each day was proving to be a minefield of physical contact and arousal. The problem was it never seemed to zero out. Like today, when it hit, he found himself back where he left off last night. The problem was he wanted to be there, wanted to feel it coursing through him. Booth fought the urge, but, if he was being honest with himself he thoroughly enjoyed giving in.

She watched his reflection in the blank laptop screen. He watched hers as he gathered her hair in his hands and pulled it back behind her shoulders letting it fall between his fingers. Her eyes fell closed, her head tilted back just a little, and a soft whisper of contentment hummed from deep in her throat. He cleared his throat and adjusted himself on the couch.

"Okay, ready, Bones?"

"Yes." She leaned on his leg looking back over her shoulder quizzically at Booth, "of course."

"Well, don't you two look cozy?" Angela, was already signed on and watching, excited at the possibility that this particular undercover assignment would shake something loose between the pair.

"No, no coziness." Brennan looked back and forth between Booth and Angela as he insisted nothing inappropriate was going on.

"We're working, Ange, you know that." Bren scolded her hopeful friend.

"Just work, nothing but work...here...between us...no coziness." Frantically they spoke over one another both arguing their point.

"Hmmm…right." Angela stretched out her words in disbelief as she muted her end of the conversation. Leaning over to Cam she laughed. "Me thinks they do protest too much." A look of total amusement washed over the ladies as they watched the pair continue to emphatically deny any romantic involvement. Reaching out Angela unmuted the conversation. "Of course you are. Why would I possibly think anything but work was happening out there in lover's paradise?"

"Can we move on now?" Booth's impatience was growing.

Angela laid it all out for them. Photographs of the victims paired with their respective lovers, and lovers paired with previous mistresses. Lovers and previous mistresses shared dates at the Queen Anne stretching back in some cases a decade or more. All three victims were new to the resort, not one of them frequented the establishment more than three times. One, the most recent victim, was only there once. Marilyn was also on the list. As it turned out she was now married to her long time lover just as Frank thought. A background check on Frank, their overly attentive concierge, didn't yield much. It seemed the resort was his life. He worked there for over twenty years already, living on the property. It appeared as if he started working only summers while he was in college. Eventually he dropped out of school and stayed on full time at the resort. They were still looking into the ownership of the Queen Anne. It seemed to be buried behind dummy corporations.

The partners added Beatrice Fortney to Angela's list of people to look into while they waited for Clark who rushed over to give a status report on the bones. Cause of death appeared to be stabbing. What interested him was the number of stab wounds each lady endured. Each had one precise wound to the heart surrounded by other stab wounds that appeared to be more random. Booth watched as Bones shot up and leaned forward as Clark listed the number of stab wounds for each victim.

"What is it, Bones?"

"I can't be sure. Clark, send me all the x-rays and your reports cataloguing all the wounds received by each victim. Angela, I need your reports also, all the data, especially the dates each of the previous mistresses came to the Queen Anne. Booth, we need to go or we'll be late for our meeting with Beatrice."

Booth leaned past her, his body hovered over hers as he cut the connection with the Jeffersonian. Lingering, cheek almost touching cheek, his breath falling heavy on her neck and shoulder, he was unable to pull away.

"Bones." He whispered. She knew exactly how he felt. This thing between them seemed only to gain strength and force, never relenting, never subsiding.

"We have to go. We have to meet Beatrice." It wasn't the answer she wanted to give. Certainly not the answer he wanted to hear.

They recovered, straightened themselves, got ready to play their roles and left their room to meet Beatrice before tennis with Marilyn.

Brennan practically flew down the hallway as they headed towards the lobby and the office where Frank set up their appointment with Beatrice. Booth chasing after her, encouraging her to slow down. His irritation grew with each step as he called after her. Ignoring him, she paused outside the office door. With a sharp turn, she faced the door and squared her shoulders, her hand hovering in the air, ready to knock as soon as Booth caught up.

"Bones?" He murmured as he caught her fist mid-air. Flipping her around, he pinned her between his muscled arms, before she could knock. His fingers adjusting, twitching, as his palms bore his weight against the door. "Are you okay? Are you mad at me or something?" She wouldn't look him in the eye, leaving him cut off from their best form of communication. "We can't go in there like this, Bones. You know that, right? Whatever _this_ is we need to handle it so we can do our jobs." An audible gasp for air, which she promptly held, and those troubled eyes finally came back to him. Booth was so close to capturing them and walking right past all those carefully placed defenses when they were interrupted.

A couple was coming down the hall. In complete synchronicity, the crime fighting duo turned their heads towards the interlopers and watched. A young, maybe early twenties, female with long blond curls bouncing as she walked led the way with her perfect oversized chest. She looked like she was peeled right off the cover of Playboy. Obviously the wealthy businessman type, he wore his wealth well. He was flawlessly groomed, big heavy rings and a bulky watch, expensive cologne, perfectly tailored suit, and a confident gait that commanded respect and attention. Age made him look distinguished with a full head of graying hair, more salt than pepper. Behind them trailed a young scrawny bell hop with a cart loaded down with luggage.

Bones grabbed two fists full of his white polo shirt up close to his collar and yanked Booth closer.

"I recognize him." She whispered against his lips as the couple drew near. "He's been here before. He's part of Marilyn's original grouping, but that is _not_ the lady who usually attends with him. That's not Marilyn's friend." Booth could hardly breathe much less think as her lips teased his.

Their heads followed the trio as they past and watched as a smaller piece of luggage fell from the stack just a few feet from where they stood still leaning against Beatrice's office door. Everybody stopped as the bellhop ran back to pick up the bag.

Something tipped, it snapped and broke. Though he would later claim mistletoe and they would both agree to call it sexless they knew that wasn't true. Booth fell on her, pulling her into a hard passionate kiss. Mouths open, tongues tangled, there was no control, no reservation. Pushing her back against the solid wood door allowed them both to feel every inch of contact as their bodies pressed together. They fought to stifle their guttural reactions, begging their bodies to behave, but it seemed impossible to regain control. Her head fell back and hit the door hard when she pulled back for air, his lips traveling fervently down her neck to her chest. Her fingers gripped his head and held him close as her strangled gasps and moans echoed in his ear. They reveled in the pleasure.

"We need to ta-" Booth barely started to speak when Beatrice opened her office door and the pair came tumbling in, catching themselves just before falling.

They stood quickly, both stunned by the decor of her office. Pictures lined every inch of her walls. There were old black and whites, faded color pictures from the sixties and seventies with saturated yellows and browns, vibrant modern high definition pictures, and every era in between. Right in front of them was a picture of the real Bacall and Bogart dancing in the main ballroom of the resort and close by, in framed perfection, Marilyn and JFK cuddled on a cabana lounge. Pictures surrounded them of celebrities and people of import from every era. This wall was living proof of ties and affairs spanning decades, some openly acknowledged, some still denied to this day.

Beatrice cleared her throat. "Welcome." The pair couldn't peel their eyes away from scanning the pictures. "Frank said you were interested in reserving your aliases with us." The duo still looked a little shell shocked when they turned their attention to Beatrice and sat down in the chairs across from her desk. They listened patiently, taking in every bit of information they could as she explained the whole naming system.

"So, Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart actually stayed in the room that we're staying in?" Booth asked.

"They stayed in several rooms here at the Queen Anne but that was their favorite, yes." Beatrice spoke with excitement. It was more than a sales pitch to her. She was offering them the opportunity to become a part of the resort's rich history. It was obvious that she believed wholeheartedly what she was selling.

"And we can reserve that name for our future visits?"

"Yes, and by doing so you would be reserving that room and that cabana, everything associated with those great names."

"Does the room ever go by a different name?" Their questions were driven by equal parts curiosity and necessity.

"No."

"What about scheduling conflicts? What if we wanted to come a particular weekend and our room, the Bogart and Bacall room, was already taken?" Brennan wanted all the possibilities covered.

"We would rearrange other guests around your schedule. We have many that come frequently with various partners, only a select few keep a name for themselves, securing a room in the process."

"Like Tiger Woods?" Booth threw that out there, having seen the name at the gun range.

"Yes and no. He reserved the name for himself, he has the same room, same cabana, but the names of his mistresses change with each visit. They each have their own assigned names, so we can keep track of their personal needs and preferences. Others may only visit our establishment once or twice. They aren't interested in becoming part of the history and traditions of the Queen Anne." As she explained the difference between those who reserved names and those who simply floated in and out of the resort they saw a change in her demeanor. She became passionate about the loyalty of those who reserved names and came regularly. Spoke of them as family, at least family to her. She defended them vehemently. On the other hand, her distaste for those that came and went became glaringly apparent.

Somewhere between James Dean and Bill Clinton her own personal history at the Queen Anne started to leak through. Beatrice was born at the Queen Anne in 1952. The child of one of the resorts employees. Raised on the grounds, she worked her way up to Guest Services Manager. Her mother, Mildred, came to work at the resort when she was only sixteen in the early 1940s. All the early photos came from her mother's collection, she explained. Among them, somewhere on the wall, was Beatrice's father. She had her suspicions but never knew for sure who he was. On weekends when he visited, young Beatrice was banned from the main resort, passed back and forth between her mother's co-workers during their breaks and times off. Despite being hidden away, she was adamant the man was loyal to her mother. Insisting he only brought his other mistress to visit the Queen Anne so he would have an excuse to visit her mother.

Booth saw it coming, her eyebrow slowly rising to a skeptical arch as Beatrice spoke. The change in her posture, the slight adjustment of her shoulders. Bones was about to school Beatrice, knock the woman's biological father right off the pedestal she'd built for him.

"That is _not_ rati-" Booth interrupted.

"Sounds like he was a good man." Booth offered as comfort to Beatrice while he squeezed Brennan's hand and sent her a clear _cease and desist_ glare. She glared back but kept quiet.

"He was." Beatrice insisted. "Right up until he found someone younger than my mother, someone prettier. After that, he avoided her. He went so far as to have the owner demote her, making her a laundry worker, so he'd never have to look at her again. He broke her heart." Beatrice snapped her attention back to the two sitting in front of her. "But that was ages ago."

Flipping a sheet around she pointed out pricing and commitments to the resort that were part of the obligations associated with claiming a name for their own. She said they could have as much time as they needed to think about it. It wasn't a contract to be entered into lightly, she wanted them to take their time and be really sure before they proceeded. When they reached for the piece of paper Beatrice pulled it away.

"There's a reason we're able to maintain your privacy. The way we handle paperwork, tight control of information, strict adherence to the rules, make this the safest place for your secret. I can't let you take this information with you. It stays here in my office. If you need to see it again just stop back by."

Booth was done. It was clear they weren't getting anything else of value out of Beatrice though Bones seemed to be honing in her possible guilt with intensity and hyperfocus. They were good questions, necessary questions but asking too soon would just arouse suspicion or tip their hand giving Beatrice the edge. He had to get Bones out of her office.

"Come on, baby, we don't want to keep Marilyn waiting." Babe and baby were easier to remember to say and certainly more natural than calling her Lauren or Bacall, neither of which she reliably answered to. But she gave him a look he couldn't interpret everytime he called her baby. It wasn't anger or irritation, which he expected. There was an unexpected level of acceptance coupled with a little bit of longing. "Don't want to be late." Booth reached out and pulled Bones up on her feet as he tried to herd her out the door with his hands. A gentle nudge, a swooping move, all facilitated by his confident hands.

"I thought you hated ten-"

"Me? _No_ , you know I _love_ tennis." They bickered back and forth until his encouragements and redirections finally got them out the door. "Gotta hurry, I know how you hate to be late."

The sound of it shutting behind them brought a huge sigh of relief from Booth.

"Why did you cut me off? We could have garnered more information from her."

"It would've tipped her off. She would've clammed up." He was matter of fact with an obviously annoyed undertone as he spoke in hushed tones out of the side of his mouth. "And we were going to be late. We still have to stop by the room and change, you know?"

"I know." She spit back.

They vollied pointed looks of frustration back and forth as they marched through the halls back to their room. Bones finally pulled ahead of him and he let her. He needed to clear his head anyways. He should talk to her, he thought, but it really wasn't that simple, nothing about her or them was that simple. If he talked to her, if she felt pushed, she would push back and it could be too much for their partnership and friendship to bare. She could push him away and run, it was a real possibility. Or she might just stay, she might be ready for something to happen between them, something strong and passionate and lasting. Both thoughts were equally terrifying to Booth.

His hand fell on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a moment before releasing it slowly, ready or not he was going in.

"Bones." He screamed as he spun around and faced away from her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm changing." She said it so matter of fact, standing there in just a sports bra and tight tennis panties, holding a cute little tennis dress in her hands. "Come on, Booth, my bathing suit reveals more than this." Turning back around he couldn't control his need to look as he compared his memory of the cabana to her standing there in front of him. His eyes darting over her he only nodded in response. "You need to change too." She commanded as she set the little dress down on the bed and stepped closer. "Booth." He didn't respond. "Come on, Booth, we're going to be late." She grabbed the hem of his polo shirt and started pushing it up and over his head.

Letting his hands come to rest on her hips, he wasn't sure if he loved or hated tennis even more at the moment. Huffing her breath out in frustration she reached for his belt buckle and started to undo his pants so he could change into the tennis clothes she laid out for him. Half heartedly he swatted her hands away.

"I know." He whispered. "I know, we won't be late, I promise."

Their bodies brushed lightly against one another as they stood close together attempting to change. His touch was so light against her skin. And even though she seemed focused on getting them out the door to the tennis match he caught her taking pleasure in their contact. Grabbing her dress off the bed he gathered it up in both hands and pulled it down over her head and along her body. It was snug along her curves. He tugged and straightened and smoothed. She stood frozen with the exception of her pulse rapidly bouncing at the base of her neck and the quick rise and fall of her chest that matched her shallow breaths.

They didn't speak after that. He finished changing, she put her shoes on and gathered their tennis equipment. They moved towards the door, walked down the long hall, out past the pool, and were almost to the tennis courts before he broke the silence.

"So, whatcha thinking about?" She didn't answer at first, just walked next to him on the path. Her ponytail pulled back into a messy bun, little wisps of hair blowing in the breeze.

"Napoleon Bonaparte said 'History is a set of lies that people have agreed upon.'"

Booth nodded in agreement.

This was their lie, the lie they agreed upon. It was just mistletoe. It was totally sexless.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N : Hello dear readers! Hope your summer is getting off to a good start. Ours is predictably hot and my summer hibernation has begun. I wanted to thank everyone for their continued support of my writing and this story. I can't really put into words what reviews and favs and follows do for a writer. It's more than motivation, much more, it gives the story to life and makes the hours debating the difference in choosing one word over another worth it. It fuels a fire inside and validates these crazy characters floating out in my imagination and the world that I've temporarily stuck them in. It's very satisfying and encouraging. So you can see why I say thank you and why I shamelessly beg for more reviews with each chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

"Bones." Booth called out from the other side of the bathroom door. "Come on, we're gonna be late." She groaned. "I'm sure you look beautiful, lessgo!" He clapped his hands together and rubbed them as he paced back and forth. She still wasn't out of the bathroom. "Bones."

Booth was rambling on while he waited, covering their objectives for the night, when he heard the doorknob turn and the door open slowly. When she stepped out into the room Booth fell silent.

"What?" She sounded nervous, self-conscious, and she shifted her weight as Booth just stood and stared at her. "Booth, say something."

"God, Bones, you look...just...you look beautiful, no, stunning, you look stunning." She watched as he took in every inch of her, turning slightly to show him the whole dress.

Her gown was simple. The light silk charmeuse hung perfectly on her body accentuating every curve. There were no heavy seams or gathers, just simple geometric shapes that cascaded down her form and pooled at her feet. The high neck dipped down low on her back where an elaborate broach connected it to the dress, the remainder hung like scarves almost to the ground blending into the short train.

Booth stepped closer, his hands drawn to the silky fabric and soft curves beneath them. They were so close. Her heavy breaths fell hard against his cheek as his hands hovered over her hips. She could feel the warmth of them even though he wasn't actually touching her.

"Booth." To hear his name fall off her lips like that made separating even harder. "We have to-"

"I know." It was a painful admission. "I know."

This, this was the definition of temptation. This was torture and heaven at the same time. This beautiful creature was a far cry from the dress to impress, business casual partner from their morning meeting with Beatrice Fortney or his doubles partner in her short sexy tennis dress that taunted him on the courts.

He knew how to handle that kind of temptation having fought it every day for years. Redirection, take all that pent up energy and desire and throw into his work. Like this morning he channeled it right into his game.

"I thought you hated tennis?" She remarked as she wiped the tiny beads of sweat from her forehead. She was on her way back to serve as he came forward to cover the net. Catching her mid stride he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against his body. Undercover had it's perks. This was one of them.

"I said hate tennis, baby." He spoke against her skin, just below her ear. "I never said I wasn't good at it." She hated that term, baby. In a preemptive strike against a long lecture on the demeaning nature of the endearment he kissed her. Her mind went blank traveling with his hand from her waist down her side and along her hip. His hand spread out along her thigh. It was far beyond flirty.

She could barely breathe by the time he pulled away, slapped her on the butt, and sent her off to serve. She glared at him when the tennis ball fell wildly short, botching her first serve. It was enough to snap her out of her Booth stupor.

"Bogie." She yelled. He was so engrossed in watching her that he almost ran into Beatrice Fortney who stormed across the tennis courts and right into the middle of their game with no apologies. Fast reflexes saved him. The pair watched with interest as Beatrice pulled Marilyn aside. He eyed Bones. A few slight but encouraging nods pointed her in the direction of the two ladies silently pushing her to join their conversation. She did, looking back nervously over her shoulder several times before reaching the ladies and inserting herself in their conversation.

But there was no tennis game tonight to work off that extra energy. Tonight they'd juggle cocktails, dinner, and dancing, all close quarters undercover work with no reprieve. Thank the heavens above they made a plan earlier in the day, he thought as they entered the elevator, because there was no way he'd be able to think clear enough to make one now. After tennis, before preparations for this evening's 1930s themed event, they made a list. Alone in the elevator, her in that flowing gown, him in his black tuxedo with a wide satin lapel and matching black vest, they went over it quickly.

Sending Bones over to that conversation with Beatrice and Marilyn yielded a few new leads. Brennan wedged herself between Beatrice, who rivaled Booth in height, and Marilyn, smaller than her in every way. She listened as Beatrice ranted, throwing around terms like audacity and ingrate, jezebel and philanderer. It confused Brennan that two women whose lifestyles were clearly contrary to monogamy could be so upset by others who had no respect for it either. But they were. Marilyn matched Beatrice insult for insult, seething over the betrayal and callousness of Oliver Bettencourt the third, whose arrival at the Queen Anne drove Beatrice to the tennis courts to forewarn her friend.

Brennan wasn't familiar with the man initially but the more they talked the more she pieced together the situation. Oliver was the man that passed them in the hall just outside of Beatrice's office. From what she could ascertain the blond perched on his arm was the second woman he brought to the resort after "dumping" his mistress of many years, Marilyn's long time friend, Colette. The first woman after Colette was one of their three victims. The women never referred to her by name, unless derogatory substitutes for the term harlot were counted.

The loud ding and whoosh of the elevator doors quieted the partners. The warmth of Booth's hand against her back led her out of the elevator and down the hall to the ballroom where she stopped abruptly, awe struck by the beauty and elegance. A look of childlike wonder filled her eyes as they danced from one glorious detail to another.

White sheer curtains lined the walls. Swagged and draped between tall art deco columns. Heavy red velvet curtains formed a backdrop for a bandstand. Shimmering in the lights was an oversized Q and A to represent the Queen Anne. There was a full orchestra and conductor in white tuxedos, black bow ties, and slicked back hair. They sat behind boxy bevelled music stand covers. Just in front of them was a small stage and what looked like several old fashioned microphones. It was like stepping back in time as the rich melodies of "Begin the Biguine" greeted each guest.

Beatrice was there. Dressed to the nines, she was taking names and helping couples find their tables. Large white plumed feathers and twisted gold branches towered above each table spilling out the top of cut crystal vases that must be at least three feet tall. Every detail, right down to the red glass dishes and wine goblets, was stunning. Beatrice ushered them to a table along the edge of the dance floor. Always the gentleman, Booth pulled out the chair for Brennan as she smoothed the her gown and sat. Still lost in awe, the pair marveled aloud at the attention given to every little detail.

"You have to remember, The Queen Anne was here in the 1930s, what you see here tonight is all original to the resort." Beatrice loved the rich history of the resort and shared it with guests whenever she the opportunity arose. "There was a time when this ballroom looked like this every weekend. People waited months to get a table here. When I was a little girl I'd hide behind the curtains, those curtains, and listen to the band play late into the night. Oh the people that sang on that stage. Cab Calloway and Bing Crosby, Billie Holiday, The Ink Spots, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, and Ella Fitzgerald, all the best, only the best. They were the real stars."

Place cards held the names of the couple they'd share a table with tonight. They didn't need to look. It was all prearranged. Brennan took advantage of her new circle of friends suggesting that if they were seated next to Oliver and his new lady friend she could bring back details to Beatrice, Marilyn, and the latest addition to the suspect list, Lelia.

Lelia came to their attention by way of that same conversation between Beatrice, Marilyn and Brennan. The women worried for Lelia and her reaction to Oliver bringing yet another woman to the resort. A passionate and loyal friend, Lelia, was very vocal about her objections to these new women. Beatrice wanted to make sure she wasn't taken by surprise. She was on her way to warn Lelia when she stopped to talk to Marilyn.

Lelia was a hairdresser at the spa. As Brennan would come to find out, she started working at the Queen Anne around the same time that Marilyn started coming. Their friendship intrigued Brennan. They were all vastly different, from education, to social status and financial standing. Yet, there was clearly a strong bond between the women.

Couples started streaming in, the room filled with the hum of laughter and conversations. Booth stood. Welcoming Oliver Bettencourt and his latest to the table. This culture was an interesting one to Brennan. Everyone here had secrets to keep. She thought they would be standoffish, aloof, but the opposite seemed to be true.

They talked about it more than once and Booth told her there was an unspoken agreement of sorts.

"We keep their secret and they keep ours, Bones, everyone here has more to lose than they could possibly gain by ratting someone else out."

There were rules though, no personal details, no real names. Within minutes Oliver's girl slipped and blurted her real name, Tiffany. Unfortunately, she caught herself, giggled nervously at the mistake, and vowed to do better. She never gave her last name. Don and his companion were approaching the table when a bright light flashed momentarily blinding them all.

There was one other rule, no photographs. The only one allowed to take photos at the resort was the official Queen Anne photographer. Tonight that appeared to be Frank. It looked like an old fashioned camera, secured by a thick camera strap around Frank's neck with a big bell light flash. Booth and Don took a picture for old time's sake. Frank promised to get both men a copy.

Booth and Brennan posed for pictures. Not just one or two, they asked Frank to take a few extra on this special night. Cheek to cheek, back to back, him facing straight ahead with her profile kissing his cheek, all the while Booth watched Don and Oliver interact. Booth standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her, it became clear that Don and Oliver were more than just casual acquaintances. This was good, this had potential.

Booth dipped her for the last picture. A little squeal, her sweet low laughter, and the rest of the world faded away. When he pulled her up she was close, her eyes sparkling with excitement. He didn't get to see them like this very often. She reached to straighten his bow tie. He smiled entranced by everything that was her.

"Your dress matches your eyes." He noticed it earlier but here, close up like this, it nearly took his breath away. The light seafoam green of her silky dress captured those gorgeous stormy eyes that tended to shift between light blue and barely green. It pinned them down, kept them a turbulent mix of both colors. Like so many of their moments it was too short, leaving all too soon.

Out of the corner of his eye Booth caught Don leaving. Bones saw it too, understanding, encouraging him as he hurried away to catch him at the bar.

"You've got it bad." Don patted his friend on the shoulder. Booth looked back at his partner then back at Don.

"Well, yeah." There was a softness in Booth's eyes. Taking a drink of his scotch Booth waited for the initial burn to pass and then continued. "Still wanna shoot a few rounds?" Don asked nearly every time they bumped into each other. Booth kept putting him off, there were other leads he needed to pursue and Don was no where near the suspect list. But now there was a reason. Don knew Oliver and Booth needed to know more about Oliver.

Don nodded while swallowing, rushing to answer. "Yeah, yes, definitely." He seemed genuinely happy. "Hey, my girl's getting impatient." Pointing with his glass Don made it clear he needed to get back to his date. As an after thought he added, "Does your girl shoot?" The question took Booth by surprise.

"Yeah, yeah, she's a pretty good shot too, but don't tell her I said that." Both men chuckled.

"Good, good, bring her. I have a prototype with me designed for women. She can test it out for me."

It would be a juggle. Bones had to make that hair appointment so she could learn more about Lelia but they would work it out, they always did. When Booth returned to the table he leaned in and told Bones the news.

"I'm a good shot." She reminded him.

"That's what I told him." Booth's arm rested on the back of her chair and his fingers played with her bare shoulders.

A stream of waiters holding silver trays loaded with fancy plates above their heads came filing out. The music changed, it was softer, and the lights dimmed just a little for a more intimate ambiance. They tried their best to interact with Oliver and Tiffany. It wasn't easy. No matter what they asked the pair Oliver dominated the conversation. Bones twitched just a little when she felt Booth's hand on her leg under the table giving her a gentle squeeze. It was meant to calm her and hopefully keep her from jumping down Oliver's throat. The more Oliver cut his date off, told her to stop talking so much, made derogatory remarks about her intelligence, the faster her jaw pulsed. Booth knew she was biting her tongue. She confided as much to Booth later.

"While Tiffany's IQ is certainly average at best the way he treats her makes it clear she was only brought to this retreat for her physical appearance. So, why bring her out to this dinner? Why not stay in their room and have intercourse all weekend? Why?" She added leaving no room for Booth to answer a question or give an opinion. "Why? I understand the physical aspect of a relationship, certainly more than the emotional aspects, but why does she allow herself to be treated like that? Physically she is quite appealing, certainly she could find men more attractive than Oliver, younger, more virile. And as for him, I understand the biological need for an attractive partner. But why take her out in public and then repeatedly humiliate her? It seems cruel."

Booth waited until she was done, all the way done. Brushing a stray wisp of hair away from her face he answered.

"You have a huge heart, Bones." She started to argue but after years of partnership she knew what he meant. Her metaphoric heart was compassionate. She was kind and she didn't like injustice no matter where she found it.

It was a relief when the lights dimmed even more and the dancing started. Booth stood almost immediately offering his hand to her and leading her to the dance floor. He had this way of pulling her in that took her breath away. She felt lost, the crooner's rich voice floated filled the room, the feel of Booth's hand lightly pressing against her back, his thumb sweeping back and forth against her bare skin in time with the music. It was magic. They gave themselves this dance before pulling themselves back into the world of crime fighting.

After that it was business mixed with pleasure. Carefully timed trips to the ladies room as she followed Tiffany. Watchful eyes on Marilyn and Beatrice. Shooting the bull while freshening up drinks at the bar. Keeping tabs on Frank. Small talk and chit chat with staff and patrons. By the end of the night they were exhausted, most couples already left, but they lingered on the dance floor. Several times she asked Booth if he was ready to leave, each time he responded with a simple, "not yet." The night was all but over when their male singer for the night took the microphone once more.

"This number goes out by request to a special lady." She could see it in Booth's eyes, the giddiness, the pride in his choice, this was what he was waiting for, she was the lady.

The band began with a long introduction as Booth whispered to her on the dance floor. This was his grandparent's song. Hank loved it and whenever he came home and saw that Millie was having a hard day he'd break out the old record, blast it through the house, and swoop his lovely wife up into his arms. Pops taught him how to dance like a real man to this song, how to hold a woman, how to gently lead, even how to tap someone on the shoulder and cut in, and now he was sharing it with her.

Though he didn't say it she knew the implications. He wanted her to be his Millie. He wanted to come home and sweep her off her feet when he had a bad day or she was tired and grumpy and didn't feel all that lovely and remind her of this night, of him in his tuxedo and her in her silky gown that flowed beautifully over her body. In the moment, in this perfect moment, she wanted that too.

The singer started singing and Booth started humming along in her ear. The sound resonating through her whole body, tickling, as it pulled her farther into this beautiful fairytale of a night. Humming turned into whispers as he sang along in hushed tones.

"I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight." The melody danced around them as Booth pulled her closer, so close their bodies brushed against each other as they swayed to the music, her cheek cradled in his hand as he gently stroked it.

"Oh, you're lovely with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft, there is nothing for me but to love you and the way you look tonight." His lips fell on her forehead in a long lingering kiss and she lost track of the song until Booth started singing again.

"And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart," and another kiss fell on the bridge of her nose. Foreheads leaning together, his cheek lightly resting on hers, his lips whispering the words of the song against hers. For months he searched for some way to tell her he loved her and never found the right time or place or words until tonight. Though he never said it to her directly she got the message.

"Lovely, never ever change, keep that breathless charm…" She couldn't wait anymore. The band kept playing and the singer kept singing as she reached for Booth and they shared a kiss that was all their own.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Oh the agony...I should've known when I sat down and wrote the first version of this chapter that it was not going to be that easy. I loved it when I wrote it but the next morning, not so much. It jumped too far ahead. As did version 2. Version 3 was better, definitely headed in the right direction and I was almost done with it when I decided that the dress and their 1930s extravaganza was the thread I wanted to weave through this whole chapter. So, somehow I went from having this chapter done ridiculously early for posting this week to a day later than I wanted to post it.

In case the song isn't familiar to you: It's "The Way You Look Tonight" originally sung by Fred Astaire in the movie Swing Time (1936) though you can find covers of it sung by just about every big name in music (Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and many more) including Adam Levine of Maroon 5 (Thank you Galaxiegurl for asking about it!)

I hope you enjoy it! I don't think I've ever had so much fun researching an era. I might be persuaded to post some reference photos I used for the dress etc if people are interested. And I know I'm late to the party but Cab Calloway ~ what a fun performer! For the life of me I couldn't figure out a good way to include a reference to Minnie the Moocher and believe me I tried.

Craftyjhawk and Snowybones deserve medals of honor for reading and reading and reading each version of this silly chapter and being supportive when I kept telling them that something just wasn't right.

Special thanks to everyone that's been taking the time to review these chapters and for the follows and favorites. I'm honored. I would love to know what you thought of Chapter 6 version 4.0. If you're so inclined please, please, please leave a review!


	7. Chapter 7

She wasn't running, not literally at least. She would never actually _run_ away from a situation. It was more of a fast paced determined retreat. Arms swaying purposefully side to side as she power walked back to their room at the Queen Anne. By the time Booth explained away her sudden departure from the shooting range she had a solid head start. Booth ran, he wasn't above running in pursuit of her. Across the grounds, through the halls, all the way to the door of their room. Taking just a second to catch his breath before opening the door and joining her in the room.

Suitcase spread out across the bed, he watched as she gathered clothes from the closet and frantically dumped them in, hangers and all, turning around to gather more.

"Bones."

"I need to get back to the lab." That's all she said as she shoved an armful of clothes still on the hanger into her suitcase.

"No, you don't." When she turned to head back to the closet he grabbed the clothes, took them back, and hung them up.

"Yes, I do." More items hastily shoved into the suitcase. "You...you...saw the picture of the murder weapon, it could be the letter opener. I need to take that back to the lab for Hodgins to analyze. I...I...I need to get back to my lab." This time instead of heading for the closet she marched to the desk pulled out the drawer and collected the letter opener as evidence.

"There are letter openers in every room, Bones, every room, and in the office. Hell, there's probably a case of them somewhere." Booth took more clothes from the suitcase back to the closet hastily hanging them back on the rod.

"I need to examine the stab wounds myself. We're getting no where here. I am more useful at the lab. I need to get back to the lab." Huffing in frustration she went back to the closet and took clothes Booth unpacked back to the suitcase.

"Bones, trust me, that is not what you need." This time he came up behind her. "Stop." His voice was soft and low. "Just stop, okay? We need to talk." She stiffened when she felt his hands on her shoulders. "I know what you need, okay?" He felt her shoulders fall, relaxing under his soothing touch.

"I need to get back to the lab." There was resignation in her voice this time, hardly the strong protest she'd lodged just seconds ago. She let her arms fall limp to her sides still clutching hands full of clothes.

They needed to talk, he was right. He tried to tell her that yesterday morning and again last night when her mounting fears became obvious. He thought they were past all those barriers, thought he knew where things were headed when they left the dance floor and the 1930s behind. The magic followed them as they meandered, slowly making their way back to their room.

Resting her hand on his shoulder for balance, Brennan wobbled as she took off one of her uncomfortable heels and then the other. Exhausted, she gathered up the bottom of her gown and draped it over her arm walking bare footed next to Booth through the halls of the Queen Anne. She enjoyed the closeness they shared, his arm hung comfortably over her shoulder, his breath on her neck as he nuzzled in. There wasn't the slightest hint of hesitation or awkwardness between them. Her low laughter echoed in the empty halls and he couldn't stop tickling her with light kisses and sweet affections just to hear it one more time. It was a dream, a night neither of them would soon forget.

They were a couple feet away from the door when she stopped abruptly. Booth didn't see it coming, still laughing and joking with her until he felt the tug on his arm. Standing still she let her gown fall back down to the ground. Pulling him back she kissed him soundly and when he tried to move them towards the room, in hopes of continuing, she wouldn't budge.

"Bones." He whispered in her ear.

He felt her shuddered breath, her trembling frame as she tried to hold back the overwhelming thoughts and emotions racing through her mind. Another kiss, a desperate kiss, as she clung to him.

"We need to talk." He murmured against her lips. It was a plea, the second time in one day he tried to address this change between them. Her head nodded in agreement gently against his stubbly cheek as she took in a little gasp of air. He could feel how tenuous her emotional control was, fragile and teetering.

"I know." She admitted before adding a caveat. "Not now, not tonight." He held her loosely in his arms, rocking her gently.

"When we get home, okay?" Booth knew her, he understood. "When we're back home and we're done with the case." Another nod, another kiss, long and slow, her silent form of communication at the moment. An unspoken agreement, things would go no farther until they were home and could address the situation without their undercover roles tainting reason.

Booth puffed his cheeks full of air before slowly letting it out. This was the byproduct of her black and white way of thinking. On the dance floor, on the tennis courts or out here in the hall she could hide behind their alter egos, they were Bogart and Bacall. Over that threshold, they were Booth and Brennan. This worked, they worked, because she was able to keep things separate, compartmentalize, black and white, one or the other, with set boundaries and parameters. This case, this trip, this night, blurred every line she used to maintain her balance in the world, her sense of balance between them. Nothing was black and white anymore, it was a mucky grey. She needed time to adjust.

Booth pulled her tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Standing there in the hall, holding her close, he knew that waiting to address this change between them was risky. Bones would overthink it, every last little nuance, every touch, every kiss, every last word he said to her over the last several days, all of it. She'd _what if_ it to death.

Even so, he couldn't help wondering if the night ended there, if nothing else happened between them, would she be frantically packing, ready to run.

Booth stepped around her, letting his hand slide gently down her arm to her hand. Carefully, he took the clothes she was still gripping and hung them back up. Repeating the process with the other hand. She stood silently, glancing over her shoulder to watch him, waiting for him to come back to her. He didn't, not right away.

Closing her eyes, taking in a deep breath, she listened as Booth's footsteps led away from where she stood. She heard the rattle of the _Do not disturb_ sign as he took it from the back of the door and hung it outside on the knob. The heavy sound of the door closing made her jump just a little. Soft beeps and dings filled the quiet space as he set his phone to silent. Each movement he made heightened her awareness as her heart beat faster and faster. She swallowed hard against the tension in her throat. Her phone was next and she couldn't help but peek at him, watching as he set it back down on the desk. Pulling her attention away, she stared up at the ceiling and forced herself to breath.

"I need to see the bones for myself, Booth. If my theory is correct then the stab wounds aren't arbitrary at all. Each victim was stabbed exactly the amount of years the previous mistress had been with thei-" He was behind her again. His hands resting on her hips. "Booth." He stepped in closer, so close she could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. "I...I...I can take Hodgins the letter opener and he can confirm it was the mur-" She lost her train of thought as Booth stepped in closer still, barely regaining it long enough to register one last protest. "I need to get back to the lab."

"I have a confession to make, Bones." Booth ignored everything she just said. His voice was soft and low and entreating. "I was awake." A quick exhale and even faster gasp for air, she felt a wave of emotion roll over her and crash down upon her.

His hands, she'd been thinking about them all morning. In fact, it seemed she couldn't think of anything else. Large and muscled, veins standing out along the backs of them winding their way up his strong arms. They were rough, not so calloused that they scratched or hurt, just enough to know this was a man who worked with his hands. Just enough to make his touch uniquely his. Booth's hands were strong, but he always handled her with tenderness. She knew that because somewhere in the early morning those hands touched her in a way they never had before.

She woke in the middle of the night gasping for air, stifling the urge to scream in terror, trembling, barely able to breathe. Opening her eyes as wide as she could, she struggled to tie herself to reality. Her heart raced. Booth was next to her. She could hear his even breaths. Taking a forced even breath she turned and twisted, ready to slide out of bed and head for the bathroom rather than wake him as she fought the lingering effects of her nightmare. Booth's hand spread out across her hip.

"No." He mumbled, his mouth dry and cottony from sleep, "c'mere." Pulling her body in flush with his own Booth wrapped himself protectively around her. "Nightmare?" She gasped and shuddered barely able to nod her answer.

His hand traveled up and down her back, firm at first, the weight of which brought a sense of safety and security with each stroke. Then lighter, as all her resistance melted away and she sunk into his side. Until, relaxed, her body rose and fell with every breath he took. With no more need for his consoling touch his hands meandered, caressing the gentle curves of her body. She hummed and dozed, not wanting to let go and sleep but too exhausted to fight it anymore. They slept, for a little while at least, slipping in and out of wakefulness as the faint light of dawn barely peeked in through cracks in the curtains, still wrapped tightly in one another's arms.

Somewhere in that dreamy state she felt his hand move along the gentle curve of her spine, tucked up under her tank top, sliding along her bare skin. It didn't feel real and she was too sleepy to make the distinction. Humming without reservation, because it felt sublime, and she wanted more. When his hands never strayed from their course along her back she rolled over in his arms enjoying the sensation as they drifted along her skin around to her tummy.

It was his turn to moan with pleasure, settling her back against his chest, pulling her hair back away from her shoulder, nuzzling into her neck. All while his hands found a new path low on her hips, along her thighs, testing the boundaries of her sleep shorts.

Neither would admit to being awake, wanting and willing to stay in this heightened state of arousal, enjoying the sensation of touch too much to complicate it with wakefulness. First one phone and then the other buzzed and rang breaking the beautiful fantasy. They were awake, there was no way to feign sleep anymore. Pretending it didn't happen, the partners just got up and got ready for another long day of undercover work and never spoke about it.

"I was awake, Bones." She couldn't breathe, his confession rattled her. "I was awake and I think you were too."

"Booth." She barely murmured his name.

"You like evidence, right? Wanna hear my evidence, Bones?" She didn't answer and he didn't wait for her to. "It took me awhile to figure it out but I think I got it." She felt his hands at her waist, his fingers playing with the sides of her blouse. A slight tug, first one side and then the other until he freed it from her waistband. "I watched you in the spa." She begged him not to go with her to the spa and her appointment with the hairdresser. She needed some distance, some space to think, to get her feelings back under control. He didn't want to give her space, he wanted her safe and close.

"You were looking in the mirror but you weren't watching Lelia or what she was doing with your hair. You were watching me." Everything between them seemed so out of control. It was wonderful and scary, it was completely new territory. "I know because I moved around just to prove my theory." It was so hard to stay engaged in the conversation with Lelia when her mind was completely wrapped up in Booth. "And then I realized it wasn't me you were watching it was my hands."

Bones gasped as his hand slid under her blouse and onto her bare skin mimicking his early morning touch. Leaning back against his chest, she let her eyes fall shut. This feeling, this very sensation consumed her morning. Every time she looked at his hands she relived that early morning in his arms. Fighting to maintain her composure as she casually questioned the hair dresser. In that moment she didn't care that Lelia loved her customers or how betrayed she felt when one of them suffered because some philandering "asshole" traded up for a newer model.

Secretly, she hoped Booth was listening because the details of the lady's life and possible alibis seemed to slip between her thoughts. Did she say she lived here during the week in bungalows just outside the resorts main grounds? That made sense. The nearest town was a solid forty-five minutes away. Or did she commute home each night? She couldn't remember. It was all fuzzy. She would have to ask him later.

"And why would you be watching my hands like that, with that look in your eyes, if you weren't awake, if you weren't thinking about it?" He whispered, his lips right behind her ear, each word tickled, teased of something more intimate.

By the time they met Don at the firing range she was a wreck and more than happy to let Booth take over. They talked over the rifle. Design details and specs that meant nothing to her. Booth was such a natural, weaving questions about Oliver in with ease. Nothing seemed to rattle him or peak his interest. Oliver was probably just a guy, a victim of sorts, not the killer. She watched from the sidelines, her arms folded protectively close to her chest, hands tucked in tight, occasionally pulling one hand free to push a wisp of hair back behind her ear. She was relieved her view was primarily of Booth's back. Still distracted, reliving the night over and over in her head, she missed her cue when Don invited her to step up and give the gun a try. Booth saved her.

"You know, Don, why don't I test 'er out first?" She watched intently as Booth lifted the rifle and aimed, adjusting his hands and fingers to find just the right grip. She saw every twitch, felt every movement his fingers made, relived every sensation. Booth looked back over his shoulder to check on her and she knew he saw it in her eyes. Transparent and vulnerable, unable to hide it from him, she turned on her heel and marched off.

"It's okay that you were awake, Temperance, because I was too. I was awake too." His hands were moving, brushing lightly across her skin and she couldn't help the hum that escaped her lips. Booth pulled his hands away feeling for the buttons on her blouse, nimbly undoing them one at a time, talking to her softly. "We've gotta stop running from this, you know? We both feel it, I know we do. We need to stop pretending it's not happening." Scooping her hair to the side he gently kissed his way down her neck, moving the fabric of her shirt a little farther off her shoulder with each kiss until it slipped right off.

"Booth."

"Hmmm." He hummed against her neck, starting to work on the other shoulder. His fingers tickled her skin as they dipped between the collar of her blouse and her neck. One arm wrapped around her waist held her close. Her hand rested on that arm, keeping him tied to her body. She wanted this, more than anything she wanted this, she just didn't know how to process it. She wiggled and squirmed in his arms.

"Should we talk?" He chuckled lightly against her skin. Talking was about the farthest thing from his mind but if that's what she really wanted, if she needed it, well, then he'd give her that.

"No, I don't wanna talk, Bones, do you?" Her blouse fell to the ground as she turned in his arms and tugged his polo shirt up over his head.

"Work, what about work?" Cupping her face gently in his hands, he pressed a soft kiss right in the middle of her worried brow.

"It can wait. Work can wait." Pulling her in, he kissed her on the lips, really kissed her for the first time in this room, the room they shared. Unreserved, hard and open and needy, that kiss was full of nearly six years worth of passion.

It tipped the scales and sent them both tumbling over the edge. They were a blur as they crashed into walls and furniture, using every surface to press up against one another. Struggling to stay connected as they pushed and pulled and tugged, their way out of the remainder of their clothes. Their frantic need to be one, to connect in a way they denied themselves for years, wrestled with their desire to take things slow. Two tangled bodies, pausing briefly to savor a pleasurable touch, a kiss, wanting the time to explore and feel every long hidden curve and muscled plane of their bodies. Until need overwhelmed them.

"Now." She begged him, unwilling to wait any longer.

"Now." He answered.

His breath stolen as he pushed into her. A sense of relief washed over them, relief and completeness, the overwhelming feeling that this was the way there were always meant to be. For a moment they were satisfied to experience that singular feeling, relish it until it wasn't enough. They wanted more, needed more, and they felt it build again, that desire, pulling them apart and sending them crashing back together. They felt it coil inside them and fought to make it last. Until they couldn't hold it off any longer. Shattering, they collapsed on one another, barely able to breathe.

In the wake of their beautiful interlude they lay peacefully bare in each other's arms tracing light patterns on one another's skin. Hushed tones and soft whispers mixed with occasional giggles. It kept the mood light and airy. They finally talked, admitting long held secrets, confessing fears and jealousies they hid over the years, some more recent than others, and made a few decisions. They wouldn't stop working together, it meant too much to both of them. They would find a way around the rules. They would figure out how to keep the line between their professional and private lives. Most importantly they decided this would be theirs, no one would know until they were ready to tell them. They would live the lie they cleared with Cullen and Hacker, the one they told Don.

They were moving onto a long list of fantasies when they heard the door to their room opening. The panicked ramblings of Frank headed their way.

"Dr. Brennan, oh god, Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, are you in he-" He stumbled into view, quickly covering his eyes with his hand and spinning around.

"What the hell, Frank, you couldn't knock like everybody else?" Booth was tucking the blankets up around Bones' chin as she protested, wrestling with his protectiveness. Booth tried to understand what Frank was saying.

"I'm not...oh god...I'm not looking...I swear I'm n-"

"Frank." Booth's voice bellowed over his. "What's wrong?"

"There's...there's a body. There's a _dead_ body in the elevator."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the last chapter! With all last month's wonderful milestones and celebrations I didn't have much time for writing and getting back into the swing of things has been harder than I anticipated. All those kind reviews have really stoked the writing fires. It only took 1 ½ versions to get this chapter to come together! Yay!

I am, of course, very curious to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

Much love,

~DG


	8. Chapter 8

A very green looking bellhop stood guard outside the elevator just where Frank left him. Staring straight ahead, he tried his best to keep people away from the scene. His whole body jerked each time the elevator chimed as the doors, trying to close, repeatedly bounced off the legs of the victim. It was a sight. Not the worst crime scene they'd been to but then most of the time they were called in after the scene was secured and partially processed.

Beatrice was coming down the hall, yelling at staff to get back to work, trying to shoo away onlookers. She was completely taken by surprise when Booth shoved his badge in her face and took control of the scene. Bones contemplated stepping over the legs of the corpse, into the elevator wanting to stop those incessant doors from repeatedly trying to close.

"We need a key, Booth, an elevator key." She hollered as she donned a pair of gloves and swung her messenger bag of crime scene goodies farther over her shoulder so it rested on her back. Setting it down wasn't an option. The elevator was covered in the fine mist of blood splatter and she would do her best not to disturb it until it was properly documented. "I told you I needed to bring my utility belt." Huffing her frustration, she bent down and lifted the camera that hung around her neck to start taking pictures. She'd already reached several times for the belt she normally wore to crime scenes.

"I know." Booth admitted before he demanded the key from Beatrice who stubbornly refused to hand it over. He set Frank to stand beside the elevator and hold the doors open. It wasn't ideal but it worked for the moment.

"The splatter seems to be contained entirely to the inside of the car, Booth." He was juggling, note cards in hand, scribbling, while Beatrice argued, refusing to accept Booth's credentials or the notion that the couple she'd grown rather fond of were undercover agents. "I'll document what I can before stepping into the car to finish the pictures of the blood splatter." No one else questioned his authority. Staff and patrons alike jumped and followed whatever directions Booth gave them. Eventually, Beatrice herself would fall in line, cooperating out of necessity. Though, every look she gave him over the course of the afternoon carried a measure of disdain. She didn't take lightly her position of authority or Booth's disregard for it. "Male, approximately fifty-fiv-."

"I can see that, Bones." It was Oliver, the victim was Oliver. Such a bold and commanding man now lay supine on the floor of the elevator with an ornate letter opener sticking out of his chest.

"Multiple stab wounds, Booth, I'd say…" She counted under her breath as she gently maneuvered around the body. "Thirteen, there's thirteen that I can account for."

It was a significant bit of information. Victim number two, the young woman found in the park not far from the resort, was also stabbed thirteen times. Thirteen was the number of years Oliver and his previous lover, his original guest at the Queen Anne, had been a couple. It fit with her observations and connection that the number of stab wounds on each victim was not random, it was deliberate, and became the basis for Booth's theory that these were some sort of twisted revenge killings. Though, admittedly, after Frank burst in on them to cry murder Booth was expecting the victim to be Oliver's blond guest, not Oliver himself. Tiffany, who stumbled on the crime scene shortly after they arrived, sat sobbing on the floor curled up against the wall.

Booth reached out to Bones to give her a hand up when she was finished with the body. "I'm fine. I can stand on my own."

"I know. I didn't mean it like that." His smile was soft and tender, his eyes adoring, and she felt the weight of their actions falling in on her. Partners, friends, now lovers added to the list. There was no line to be crossed any more, they crossed it and nothing could change that.

They were shoulder to shoulder and as close to alone as they were going to be for a hours. Booth leaned in and spoke quietly out of the corner of his mouth. "You okay?" He could see she wasn't. The frantic look in her eyes betrayed her. "You know about...earlier?" She leaned in and mimicked his conspiratorial whispers.

"You mean about Frank knowing our names?"

"What? No, I don't mean...no...not anything about Frank. Though that is...yeah...I mean about...you know...us...being... _together._ " She tried to contain her low laughter and a smile. Her lovely face glowing, awash in memories.

"Oh...oh...yes, of course, more than fine actually, quite satisfied, in fact. Should I not be fine?" Head tilted, feeling suddenly unsure, she searched his expression trying to navigate these new waters but found nothing helpful. "It was just sex, Booth." He shushed her, looking around to see if anyone heard her.

"Really, Bones? You and I both know it was more than _just_ sex so don't do that, okay?" She didn't mean to downplay the significance of it, that wasn't her intent. Once again her social awkwardness stood out as a glaring defect to her.

She hurt him. She could hear it in his voice. Defensive, he was insulted by her reaction, by her choice of words. It was in his eyes too, he looked crushed. Only a couple hours into this change between them and she already was making mistakes, already causing him pain. She didn't know how to fix it and fumbled, stammering around the subject as she tried, unsuccessfully, to repair the damage.

"Later, we'll talk about it later, Okay?" Booth was direct, pinning her down with a unyielding gaze and a distinct nod as he waited for hers in return.

Her guilt only compounded when she was flooded by a sense of relief. They were coming, she could hear them, an army of men and women loaded down with equipment and headed right for them. The FBI tech team from the closest field office and a small army of agents rounded the corner. They were back to work, the renowned Dr. Temperance Brennan and Special Agent Seeley Booth, perfectly professional. Booth jumped back to the subject of Frank distancing them from their conversation about sex about as fast as humanly possible.

"So, yeah, about that. How do you think Frank knows our names, anyways?"

"I am certain I don't know. We've been extraordinarily careful. I can't think of even one instance where we've given him the opportunity to eavesdrop close enough to hear us use our names."

"The cabana?" Booth watched as her fingers traced her lips. There was a kiss there, more than one, that left her breathless as she swallowed his words, his affections and endearments.

The subject was dropped momentarily, jarring her from her dreamy state, as Booth started divvying up jobs and giving orders.

The arrival of the agents and techs would speed things along and allow them to focus on more important efforts. First and foremost, questioning witnesses. They were already lined up and waiting for the pair in a sitting room just down the hall. The events of the afternoon started to take shape.

As it turned out Frank wasn't the first to find Oliver's body. Another guest of the hotel was unfortunate enough to have hit the elevator button on their floor. Imagine her shock as the bloody corpse slid down the wall of the elevator, his legs and feet protruding out of the car. It was her screams that alerted Frank who was making his rounds. Frank and the poor ashen bellhop both came running. Frank commanded the bellhop to stand there and not let anyone near the body while he went to get help. To his credit, the young man did a fine job. They took statements from everyone that gathered in the hallway. Most of which were dismissed almost immediately having no useful information. They were looky-loos, they came to see what the commotion was about and stayed hoping to get some insider information.

Once the crowd thinned out Booth turned his attention to Frank. "So, you seem to know a lot more than you should, Frank. Can you tell me about that?" The small wiry man looked like he was going to vibrate out of his skin bouncing and twitching, nibbling on his fingers. His movements were nervous and constant. Leaning in he started prattling out information in hushed tones pausing every once in a while to look over his shoulder and see who was watching him.

"You should know this, okay? That's not what Miss Fortney was wearing this morning, okay? This morning and, lets see, I saw her last after lunch she was wearing a shirt, a blouse thing, that had flowers all over it. And you can see, you can see, she's not wearing it no-"

"That's great, Frank, but that's not what I asked you. I need to know how you knew our real identities? It's important."

"And that's her letter opener. Well, I guess it's not hers exactly. It belongs to the front desk or it did but I've seen it in her office before, recently, like this week. She loves it. It has history, you know, and she's all about the history of this place, like obsessed, she's obsessed. It's been here as long as the Queen Anne has been open. It's an antique. Did I say that already, that it's an antique? It is...an antique. She talks about it all the time, like seriously, all the time. Comparing it to the ones the resort keeps in the rooms, you know, how much heavier it is and the quality of the workmanship and the metal it's made of, all of it."

"I need to know how you found out about our identities and if anyone else knows, Frank?" For the first time in their conversation Frank stopped rambling. With every bit of sincerity he could muster he answered.

"No one knows, no one but me. I haven't told anyone. I never would tell anyone anything. You're secrets are always safe with me." It didn't really answer the question, at least not the part about how he knew but Booth's gut told him it was the truth.

By the time the body and all the evidence surrounding it was on its way to the Jeffersonian the search warrants were signed and techs were standing by to search the living quarters of their short list of suspects. Each suspect was supervised by an agent to keep them from tampering with any evidence, every location secured.

"Frank's first. You okay with that, Bones?" They talked as they walked, passing the tennis courts and pool.

"Do you still think he did it?" He shook his head before answering, letting out a heavy sigh.

"I don't know. I mean I don't think he did it, though he might have been an accomplice. I just don't know about him. He's...something's just not right there, but I can't put my finger on exactly what it is. He certainly seems to be pushing us towards Beatrice." Bones agreed.

They'd never been to this part of the resort before. Almost all the employees lived onsight at least during their assigned work weeks. The resort was remote, commuting wasn't an affordable staff quarters were secured behind a wrought iron fence and heavy locked gate. Hidden by an overgrowth of trees and brush, was a whole compound of little bungalows. The apartments looked like they'd been plucked right out of old Hollywood. Little white cottages, spanish style with a touch of art deco, sported arched windows with striped awnings and red tile roofs. A rarity as far as style goes for the area. They were charming.

The partners walked down the manicured paths followed by an entourage of agents, techs, and suspects. Their eyes darted, taking in every little detail, processing all that information. Bones elbowed Booth to make sure his attention was all hers before speaking.

"Beatrice Fortney grew up out here." He was right there with her adding his thoughts to hers.

"She would know this area better than anyone at the resort. And with her position as manager she'd know which units were empty."

"And which were remote enough to not attract attention if someone was screaming."

It felt natural to work with him like this, seamless, and given all the change taking place between them it was comforting. She nodded, she didn't have to tell him this was good, he knew, he could see it in her eyes. He gave her a little nod back.

"She's not a small woman. She's taller than me and well built." Brennan observed. "I believe she's healthy enough and strong enough to carry out these murders."

It was clear she took the relationships of her clients personally. Probably because of her philandering birth father. Cheating on his wife, his mistress, and Beatrice's mother obviously left a huge chip on her shoulder. All the women killed were relatively young, all replaced older women, friends of Beatrice, long time patrons of the Queen Anne. That was a solid motive. Add what Frank told them when they questioned him and she looked pretty guilty. What they needed was evidence.

They were almost to Frank's door when he slipped in front of them blocking their path. In one fluid movement Booth moved Bones behind him and pinned Frank down against his own front door, leaving the shaken man staring down the barrel of Booth's gun.

"That is so cool." Booth wasn't expecting that response from the man. "How do you even do that?" He started to move, to mimic Booth's actions in pantomime, stopping short when he realized his casualness was not being perceived quite like he intended. "Sorry...sorry...I...I didn't mean it like that." Flinging his hands up in the air he stood still but kept talking. "I just thought...I just...I...thought I should explain some things before you go in there."

"See, this is exactly what I meant, Bones." Before she could even answer Frank was back to his ramblings. Booth holstered his gun, flipped the man around as he passed him off to another agent. "You can explain later, Frank."

"Holy shit." Booth stopped dead in his tracks causing Bones to run right into the back of him. She was scolding him, he could tell by her tone, but most of what she said didn't register. He was too busy taking in what seemed to be a shrine to his beautiful partner. Frank's entire living room paid homage to her. There were framed posters, promotional materials, and photographs of Frank with Bones at different book signings lining the walls. A life sized cardboard cut out of her likeness was propped up by the fireplace. Laying open on the couch was a scrapbook of newspaper articles about them, Special Agent Seeley Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan in bold black print. Frank knew who they were all along, had to have.

"I told you I needed to explain." Frank sounded a little too smug for Booth's liking.

He may not have anything to do with the murder. Fine, that was all good, not unexpected, that didn't matter any more because in many ways this worried him more. Obsessed fan, stalker, there was a fine line between the two and, in his experience, it took very little for the scales to tip.

"I'm not crazy, I swear I'm not. I just...I'm just a fan." Frank's hands were up in the air waving surrender. "I swear, like I said earlier, I didn't tell anyone who you are, no one, not a soul. It was my secret and I wasn't going to say anything at all...ever...but then there was that body...and I had to….I had to say something."

"Okay, okay." Booth finally got him to stop. They questioned him further around a small kitchen table while agents and tech carried out a thorough search. There was nothing that indicated Frank for the murders. As they were leaving Booth asked him if there were any empty bungalows, any set off from the others, secluded or separate enough for no one to know about their use. There was. Grabbing a piece of paper and pen Frank gave them detailed directions as he drew them a map.

Beatrice Fortney then Lelia the hairdresser, that was the plan. It was getting late and it was clear that this was going to take some time. They couldn't stop, leaving would run the risk of the killer disposing of evidence. Spreading their teams out they were able to cover the resort proper. Those agents searched the offices, closets, storage rooms, and every suspicious nook and cranny. At the same time teams worked their way through the bungalows of Beatrice and Lelia as well as the saloon and spa.

There was a frustrating lack of evidence, leaving the partners tired, hungry, and irritable. Empty handed, they would have to call an end to the search soon. All the areas covered by the warrants completely searched to no avail. But Booth wasn't ready to give up. Egged on by the increasingly smug attitude of Beatrice Fortney he made one last call to Caroline seeking a warrant to search all the empty bungalows and out buildings. With agents standing watch, stationed around the resort, the partners headed back to their room.

"Okay, Bones, here's the options. Caroline will call as soon as she gets the warrant which probably won't be until morning. So, we can drive into town and try and get a room there or we can stay here one more night."

She was considering their options as Booth's hand ushered her into the room.

"Mary, mother of Jesus, God bless that man." There was a meal laid out on the table for them, plates domed in polished silver, wine chilling in a bucket of ice, and a note, reassurances from Frank, a pledge of fidelity.

Booth immediately started lifting lids, guttural sounds of approval echoed through the room. Steak, loaded mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, still warm, though at this point he would've eaten them ice cold if need be. Nibbling on a green bean, he peaked at hers too, a wonderful smelling minestrone and what looked like eggplant parmesan. Flopping in the chair he called out to her. He was so taken by the food that he simply lost track of her once they were through the door.

"I don't care if we stay the night here or drive into town, Bones, that's totally up to you, but I am definitely _not_ leaving until I eat. I am starving!"

She came around the corner of the bathroom. She changed. Setting the silverware down after he barely picked it up, Booth found himself speechless, transfixed. She wasn't in anything fancy, no skimpy lingerie or silky nightgown. It was just her. Face washed clean of makeup, hair down, loose curls falling around her face, and a pair of boxer like shorts that barely peeked out under the edge of an old Flyers t-shirt that belonged to him.

"So, we're staying then." His heart raced at the sight of her. She paused, pulling her lips between her teeth. He wasn't used to this Temperance. Not that he wasn't aware of her insecurities, she just rarely showed them to anyone. "C'mere." Stepping closer, she stopped just shy of his reach.

"I'm not good at this." She confessed, her shoulders fell a little as her whole body seemed to signal defeat.

"Why would you think that, Bones? You're a genius, you're good at just about everything." He wasn't making this any easier with his tender acceptance of her perceived weaknesses.

"Not this." She swallowed against the tension in her throat, bound and determined to speak her peace. "Today...in the hall...when you asked if I wa-"

"No." Booth shook his head, standing as he stepped into her space and took her hands in his, squeezing them just enough to let her know he was holding onto her. "No, you're fine, you're good, we're good, understand? You're good just the way you are."

"You are very kind, Booth. But I'm not." She insisted. "I hurt you today. Don't try and deny it..I...I could see it in your eyes. I hurt you and I don't want to do that. I don't want to hurt you." Gently, he tucked her hair behind her ears, first one side, then the other, until his hands came to rest on her cheeks.

"You won't, okay?" Her eyes darted, landing everywhere but on him. "Hey, hey, look at me, okay? You don't need to worry about that because I know your heart, Bones, I know your heart." One hand slid down her neck and came to rest in the center of her chest. "I know you would never mean to hurt me."

"I may not mean to but I did, I did hurt you and I will again. Not because I want to. I don't want to. I am just not good at this, at relationships, at communicating. I'm not. And you deserv-"

"I love you." It wasn't his intention to tell her that, not yet, and he almost cringed when the words came tumbling out of his mouth. He made a conscious choice not to tell her for fear of scaring her off. But there it was, blurted, and now he needed to make it work. "I love you just the way you are, Bones. I don't want you to be something you're not, I never have, because this is the you I fell in love with."

"Love." She barely breathed it out, her voice quivering. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on hers and echoed the sentiment.

"Love." It came out soft, but strong and firm.

She took a breath, a deep breath, and then another, adding a little nod, an affirmation, acceptance, then kissed him. He could feel the change in her. That strong woman, gutsy and courageous, regained her footing. She tugged on his hand, leading him over to the couch. Sitting, he watched as she wiggled her way around him until she was standing between his legs.

"So, when you say you love me, do you mean in an _atta girl_ sort of way?" Baiting him on purpose, a spark of fire flashed in her eyes. He pulled her closer, causing her to lean precariously to avoid tipping over and losing her balance.

"Hmmm…" His hands reached up, grabbing her hips to steady her. Pulse jumping at the base of her neck, he watched as her eyes fell closed. She was enjoying his touch, responding to the smooth confident movements of his hands on her hips. "Did I say that?" She caught her breath with a tiny gasp as one of his hands ran down the length of her thigh and hooked behind her knee. Carefully, he guided that leg until it rested on the couch, to one side of his hip.

"I think you did?" She braced herself with one hand on each of his shoulders.

Booth let his head fall back, his eyes closed momentarily, as he gave himself time to feel every sensation she aroused in him. His whole body twitched with anticipation and she responded to every small movement. Supporting her weight, he guided her other leg until she sat straddling him. He couldn't contain the pleasurable groan that escaped as she settled on his lap.

"Well, yeah." His hands moved back and forth across her thighs, barely rounding her hips. "Yeah, I guess I did." Reaching down between them she pulled at the edges of his shirt, dragging it up his chest and over his head. "But as I recall it you said you loved me too." That smile, the charm, the twinkle in his eye. She went through the exaggerated motions of punching his shoulder, bare and muscled, then grew serious again.

"I knew...I knew even then...I knew what you meant."

"I know." He whispered. "I remember."

It was the fear in her eyes that stopped him that night, the fear and Cam's words echoing in his ears. He needed to be sure, sure that she was ready, sure that he was healthy enough not to offer her love then leave her alone in a world that had been nothing but cold and lonely to her for most of her life. It wasn't the right time, so he switched gears, made it a partner thing, like rules of building trust by sharing and guy hugs.

His hands slipped up along her hips, over those girly plaid boxers she was wearing, under his t-shirt, which he found he liked much better on her, and onto the smooth skin of her waist and back. She hummed at first, enjoying the sensation, then pulled back. Threatening to leave his lap.

"Where you goin'?" He held her, flexing his muscles to keep her there on his lap. Her hum of approval turned into a deep soft laugh before she stilled herself and answered.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Booth, I thought you were _starving._ " Completely innocent? He didn't think so. Her deep chuckle confirmed her playfulness.

Booth let his hands slid up her slides with just enough pressure on her flesh to evoke the softest murmur of appreciation. The t-shirt fell to the floor, her back arched, her bare chest barely brushing against his. His eyes danced across her body and watched intently as her beautiful auburn hair fell back behind her shoulders.

"I am." He whispered against her skin as he flipped her around and laid her out along the couch. "I'm starving."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Most of the time my auto immune disease affords me more time to write because I have to take life at a snails pace. Occasionally, though, it wipes me out all together. This last couple weeks have been that way. But, I am feeling a little better and was able to crank this chapter out faster than expected. Maybe it was the hundred versions of it that played on repeat in my head while I was cozying up to my heating pad.

Regardless, thank you so much for the reviews and favorites and follows and the sweet notes letting my know you are anxious for more! They certainly lifted my spirits and they work, they inspire and prompt me to keep on writing. So, please keep them coming.

There are still a few chapters left in this story. I'm not sure exactly how many but at least a couple.

much love

~DG


	9. Chapter 9

Booth's hands were strong, his touch warm and tender, and he applied just the right amount of pressure. Bones stretched, long and languid, against the palm of his hand as he followed her perfect curves. Her beautifully rounded hip, the dip down along her waist, back up over her ribs where his fingers tucked in running just underneath her body, all the way up the inside of her arm until his fingers interlocked with hers. She hummed in sleepy satisfaction, reveling in her heightened senses.

"Morning." he whispered as he tucked himself into her.

They were bare, tangled in the sheets, the first light of dawn barely peeking through gaps in the curtains. The world seemed small, just the two of them, far away from the reality of everyday life. They would take advantage of this moment. Whispers and hushed giggles filled the room as he lavished her in light touches and kisses.

"Booth." She protested weakly, as her body arched into his sending a completely different message. Pulling at him, she tugged and wiggled until he was settled squarely in between her legs. Their eyes met, locking in silent communication, as he hovered over her.

A slight nod from her, a gentle push from him, and she found herself robbed of breath. Awash in safety and completeness, she shared a sense of oneness with the only man she truly trusted. Holding him close with all her strength as a wave of fear ran through her.

She couldn't lose this, but she couldn't lose herself either. The balance of which she knew would be precarious at best. Surely, they would leave the Queen Anne today. Already anticipating their return to DC and the hurdles they would face there, she felt the panic within her start to gather strength, looming over her.

He felt it in her, the shift, even though she did her best to hide it. And when he asked if she was okay her only answer was to flip them, take control, and set an almost frantic pace. She needed the rush, the flood of chemicals she knew would follow. And when it came, she let herself fall into it completely, riding the wave of her release out as far as it would carry her before collapsing breathless beside him. Everything felt better. She'd garnered a temporary reprieve.

Work took care of the rest. Almost immediately they were caught up in a flurry of case activity. The perfect distraction. There would be no time to worry or fret over the change in their relationship. Updates came rolling in, calls and reports, from every team working on the investigation. She was swept up in the fervor and not released until they were on their way home. Just them, in the truck, crossing under the threshold of the Queen Anne. She turned almost completely in her seat, looking back over her shoulder at the ornate wrought iron gates which were quickly disappearing behind them.

His glances back and forth from the road to his quiet partner seemed to go unnoticed. Her gaze now fixed out the passenger window. Long heavy sighs were the only thing that interrupted her silence. Booth took one hand off the steering wheel, brushing it lightly over hers before gathering it up and holding it tight, as if the act alone would bind her securely to him. It worked, for a moment. her head whipped around, her gaze caught his, and she smiled.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I am so very sorry for the delay in adding to this story! My husband pointed out that since he decided to go back to school to get his degree it has been one thing after another. The first month his father died. The second month I fell and tore my rotator cuff (which has had a profound effect on my ability to type). The third month my son was hospitalized with a dangerously low hemoglobin rate (4.4 - normal is 12 -15). He's doing much better, thank goodness. And just this last week my father was temporarily hospitalized (diagnosis in the end, old age). Woven through there was a rather serious writer's crisis that left me completely paralyzed every time I sat down to write.

This little offering, not even a real chapter, will hopefully act as both a bridge in the story as our favorite duo head back to DC and an apology for making you wonderful readers wait so long.

Thank you all for your wonderful support, your concern voiced in reviews and private messages, and your patience!

much love,

DG


	10. Chapter 10

Beatrice Fortney was within the proper height range and certainly had the strength to have committed the murders, Brennan thought as she stood alone in the dark observation room. But, and it was a big but, her whereabouts during the murder of Oliver were well documented. All the other cases had timelines too open to really pin down an exact time or place. Each having a window of a few days for time of death, each committed somewhere within the vicinity of the Queen Anne, at least within a fifty-mile radius. Which led Brennan back to the irritating fact that they still had no solid evidence pointing decidedly toward one culprit. Maybe she didn't commit the murders by herself. Maybe Booth was right, maybe the women colluded.

While she may not have done the actual killing, Beatrice could be an accomplice. She could have provided valuable help by finding remote locations for the other kills or helped with the disposal of the bodies. The grounds of the Queen Anne were vast and no one knew them better than Beatrice, who was raised there.

Marilyn Monroe who, in real life, preferred to be called Kitty even though her given name was Patricia Grace and Kitty was more commonly a nickname for Catherine, was still very much a suspect and was sitting just beyond the glass in the interrogation room of the DC office of the FBI. Brennan, who was tired and very irritable, watched, studying the physicality of the older woman. She was shorter than Beatrice and certainly no match for her strength. Stabbing a large man, like Oliver, was physically no easy feat. He seemed healthy enough, certainly strong enough to fend off a woman Marilyn's size.

Brennan shifted her weight and let out a frustrated huff. There was no one there to hear it. Booth and Sweets were both in the interrogation room with Marilyn. She was left alone to, "observe the physicality," of their suspects, at least that's the reason Booth insisted she be there. With one arm wrapped around her waist, she caught herself subconsciously fiddled with the fingers of her other hand, trying not to nibble around her nail bed. It was a nervous habit she picked up in foster care. One she controlled most of the time, unless she was extremely tired or overwhelmed. Today she was both.

Her mind drifted to Booth. They'd been back for a couple of days now, both days busy enough to keep their interactions completely professional. Brennan wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Though she relished their stolen moments and the reassurances Booth offered in the face of her own worries. She was sure everyone knew their secret, even though no one had said anything about it. Truth was, they'd been particularly careful. Still, every look her co-workers gave, every off hand remark, every joke about their time at the lover's retreat, every pregnant pause or sideways glance, caused her momentary panic. Booth did his best to convince her that they always treated them this way, especially after undercover cases. They and their non-relationship, relationship were a source of great entertainment for their co-workers. It was worse this time, Booth argued, because the nature of their assignment was _all_ about being a couple.

Booth.

Both nights they'd been back she'd worked late at the lab. One night she ended up falling asleep at her desk, the other saw her staggering home to her apartment, alone, to sleep for only a couple of hours before she headed back to the Jeffersonian. He was patient with her, understanding, maybe too patient. She told him she wasn't avoiding him, that she wanted to be with him at his apartment or hers, but the case needed her expert attention. She'd neglected it long enough while they were undercover at the resort. It was a complicated case and her interns were not her, she explained. She suspected Booth didn't believe her. She suspected he thought she was using work to avoid him.

The buzz of her cell phone against her leg startled her back from deep within her own thoughts. Fumbling through her pockets, she finally retrieved it. It was a text from the lab. Cam ran a tox screen on Oliver which yielded some interesting results. Oliver was drugged at the time of the murder. Traces of fentanyl were found in his blood, fentanyl and alcohol. That wasn't a surprise, liquor was available in abundance at the resort. Taking that into consideration, it was possible, even with her limited strength, Marilyn may have been able to overpower him. Leaning forward, Brennan held down the speak button on the small microphone centered by the two-way glass allowing her to communicate directly into Booth's ear. Then watched for his subtle acknowledgment of the information and stepped back. Her brain already factoring in this new information as she watched Marilyn carefully.

There was still one suspect left to consider. Lelia was the smallest of the women, but very strong and more physically fit than Marilyn (Kitty or Patricia, neither name seemed to fit after getting to know her as Marilyn), possibly even stronger than Beatrice. Lelia was passionate about her loyalty to the women she'd served over the years. They were her life, her friends, her complete social circle. However, she seemed too small in stature to have committed Oliver's murder, certainly shorter than the height range Hodgins and Clark had estimated from the angle and depth of the stab wounds. Normally, she wouldn't be considering her for that reason alone.

"Did you see Oliver that day?" The question caught her attention pulling her gaze back up to the glass. Marilyn hemmed and hawed, doing her best to avoid answering.

"Yes," her posture changed, "in passing." She fidgeted in her seat more so than she'd done the entire interview. She appeared flustered and evasive. When asked to elaborate on her answer Marilyn was vague at first, finally explaining in more detail. As it turned out, Oliver was in the salon that morning. He was coming in as Marilyn was leaving. "Lelia tried to have someone else cover Oliver's appointment. It wasn't planned." She argued in defense of her friend. "But, Andre was ill, he didn't come into the salon that day. It wasn't planned, she had no choice." If she drugged him Lelia could have followed him after the appointment and committed the murder herself.

Beatrice had been flustered the day before, on the tennis courts, interrupting their game to speak with Marilyn urgently. Both women, Beatrice especially, were worried about how Lelia would react to Oliver being back at the resort with yet another partner. That much was obvious.

Brennan closed her eyes momentarily, taking another long breath. Booth was right, though she hated to admit it. Her presence during these interviews seemed to have some merit. Booth had been trying to get her out of the lab since they returned to DC. Maybe it was her own shift in paradigm with the change in their relationship, but it seemed like he wanted her there, with him, more than was their custom.

"You're my partner, Bones, of course I want you there. I need you there." He tugged on her sleeve, letting his hand slide down her arm until he was playing with her long graceful fingers, enticing her, inch by inch, away from her meticulously laid out set of bones. He knew her, knew how to play her, and it frustrated her to no end, mostly because it worked. Here she was, standing alone in the observation booth, dutifully being his partner, participating in the investigation the way he wanted her to, not in the way she'd serve him best.

At that very moment Booth turned in his chair, looking over his shoulder at her through the mirrored glass, and flashed that handsome smile she had such a hard time resisting. She shook her head. Damn him.

She smiled back, even though she knew he couldn't see.

They were finished with Marilyn, at least for the moment. Gathering papers, straightening folder by tapping them on the cold metal table, both men stood and made their way out of the room.

"Can I go back to the lab now?" That was her less than cordial greeting when he finally appeared in the observation room, Sweets right on his heals.

"Oh, boy," Sweets whispered under his breath. There was obvious tension between the two which seemed to be doubling, maybe even tripling, with every interaction.

"No." Booth's eyes widened as he shot her that "dial it back" look he always gave her when she was hovering around the edge of doing or saying something socially unacceptable. "We're waiting on Lelia, the hair lady-"

"Stylist, Booth, hair stylist."

"She should be here soon." Booth snapped. "There's no point in taking you back and then turning around to come get you."

She didn't respond, just shot him a nasty look.

Sweets chuckled nervously like a kid caught between arguing parents. Both partners turned and glared at him. Scrambling to change the subject, he blurted. "Hey, you know, as long as we have a few minutes we could sit down, maybe fit in a little session while we wait, a kind of undercover debriefing."

The nasty looks turned into a death glares as the partners turned and walked away. Sweets followed them, continuing to badger them about the precarious balance they maintained as partners and the pressure of being undercover as lovers at a romantic getaway. He wanted details, he argued, so he could better help them. Booth grabbed Bones by the arm, pulled her into his office, and closed the door in the young psychologist's face, waving goodbye through the glass.

"He knows." Booth shushed her as he methodically closed the mini-blinds and blocked Sweets youthful pleas of rejection one glass wall at a time.

"He doesn't." He spoke softly so as to avoid arousing any suspicion. "And he won't if you just act normal."

"Normal?" She questioned, looking rather skeptically at Booth.

"Normal, as in normal for you, like you would normally act, not like normal, like everybody else would act." Moving her again, he pulled her away from view, toward a corner of the office where no one could see them, not even if they peeked through the cracks in the blinds, which he wouldn't put past the determined psychologist still hovering outside his office. "Just be yourself, Bones, like you would be if, you know...what happened…" he gave her a look, a conspiratorial look complete with a little waggle of his eyebrows, "never happened."

Grabbing his lapels she both tugged him close and turned them all at the same time, pulling him into a deep and desperate kiss. His deeply satisfied groan of pleasure and relief, left them both laughing.

"I miss you." His whispered confession tickled her ear and she found herself leaning into his lips, nuzzling closer.

"Hmmm...me too." Letting her eyes close, she took a moment to just breath as her hands drifted over Booth's scruffy cheeks and strong jaw. "I mean, I miss you too, not me, I don't miss-" Cutting her off with another kiss he pulled her hips hard against his own eliciting a soft moan of pleasure.

"Not tonight. You won't miss me tonight. There will be no working." His hands drifted along her hips as he spoke, moving up along the small of her back in constant comforting motion until one worked its way up to her face, cradling it, his thumb tenderly stroked her cheek. "Dinner at my place, some good food, some good wine, a long hot bath." Swaying her lightly back and forth in his arms he let the gentle motion, like a slow dance, woo her. "Maybe an early bedtime, maybe a little -" A sharp tap on his office door broke the spell.

Both partners let out exasperated huffs of frustration. This wasn't going to be easy.

Booth pulled away, rubbing his face as he made his way to his office door. Greeted by an overly enthusiastic Sweets announcing that Lelia arrived and was waiting in the interrogation room for them, Booth let out an obvious sigh of frustration. Holding open the door to his office he motioned for Bones to join him letting his hand fall to the small of her back as she walked past him. He whispered something to her as she passed, something he started doing since their return.

"Attagirl." Her entire demeanor softened. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled letting out a beautiful low chuckle before answering.

"Right back atcha, Booth."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N I am sorry I've been so absent, that pesky thing called life just kept getting in the way. I promise I won't abandon this story, though, regardless of what craziness ensues. I want to especially thank those that have reached out to me with compliments and encouragements. I have needed them and they are the reason there is a chapter 10.

Anyways, thank you for the continued support for this story, the love and especially the patience through it all.

Please leave a review, I cherish them all, I really do.

~DG

PS I am working on my gift for the Bonesology Valentine's Day Challenge. Hopefully, that will be ready to post this next week I'm excited to be participating in that. And then I can get on with Chapter 11 of this story!


	11. Chapter 11

_My tub's bigger_

Booth smiled as he looked down at the text. Then looked around the restaurant before adjusting his stance. He groaned softly and shook his head just a little at the thought of his beautiful partner waiting for him in her big jacuzzi tub. He'd opened that text message multiple times during the afternoon while waiting to be done with work, ready to keep his part of the bargain.

 _I'll bring dinner_

That's where they'd left things hours ago when Bones finally got her way and went back to the Jeffersonian. He stayed, completed his suspect interviews, met with Carolyn, and went over the growing mountain of evidence before delegating out more assignments and follow-ups. It was a relief when he finally pulled out of the Hoover's parking garage, like seeing the finish line at the end of a marathon.

This would be the first night they spent together since their return from the Queen Anne. That carried a lot of weight in his book. It was easy at the resort, no pressure, no expectations, cocooned in a world all its own. This, them together, at home, creating a new life, a _real_ life, a new routine, it was a complete unknown, a future they would have to build as a team if it was going to work.

Pulling out his wallet Booth paid for their dinner and left. Making the quick trip from the restaurant to her place, he juggled the box of takeout cartons in one hand and keys in the other. He was one deep breath away from a future with her. Booth unlocked and opened the door to her apartment and stepped in.

"Lucy, I'm ho-ome." He said playfully, his poor attempt at a thick cuban accent echoed through the apartment. Rounding the corner to her open kitchen, he set dinner on the counter, catching her confused expression as she looked up from a highly organized web of evidence folders, pictures, and reports, her head tilted. "It's...nevermind." His smile was warm and inviting. "What's all this?"

He didn't have to ask, he knew. She brought work home with her. This case was bothering her, she'd told him as much earlier in the day. In fact, she was sure it was the reason she hadn't been able to sleep since they returned from the Queen Anne. It annoyed her to no end when she couldn't figure things out. It was like the case was mocking her, questioning her intellect. It was a challenge she couldn't refuse. To be honest, they both suffered from it, it was part of what made them so successful, where most people would give up and move on, they couldn't. They were like a bulldog, jaw locked until they figured it out, until they won.

"I'm just looking at it all again, trying to see what I missed."

Booth made his way around the edge of her long dining table, every inch covered and peppered with postit notes. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently back and forth, settling her in his arms. Falling back against him, she hummed. It felt good, natural, to be like this with him, the way she'd pictured the possibility of it for years, a beautiful mix of work, play, and pleasure. His hand slipped down along her side, following the curve of her hip, before leaning slightly to see what was left in the banker box set on a chair at the end of the table. There wasn't much, everything but a file with a picture of Frank attached was already laid out with the exception of one file. Taking the grey Jeffersonian folder from her hands, Booth set it haphazardly on her perfectly aligned work.

"Booth." He ignored her, all hands and kisses. He'd waited long enough, the last few days were intolerably long, he wasn't prepared to wait any longer, he wanted to be with her, just her, not her and their long list of suspects.

"You promised me, Bones, it's tub time." Inch by inch, he was moving her away from her work.

"I didn't promise you anything, Booth, the tub was your suggestion, I merely pointed out that my tub was bigger than yours. That's all." She wouldn't go easily, but he already knew that. Pushing back, she gripped his broad shoulders, her mouth tangled with his, as she slowly moved them back toward the table.

"Whatever you're doing here can wait." He pulled her flush up against his body, holding her close, relishing the pleasured moan that escaped her. She wanted this too, she was just too damn stubborn to admit it.

"I was almost done." She slapped his shoulder playfully.

"Really?" Backing up he took a second look at the table.

"Yes, really, before you messed it up." Wiggling out of his arms, she grabbed the folder he flopped on the table and held it to her chest. In an act of careful concentration, she pulled her lip between her teeth and considered its placement.

"Marilyn's alibi checks out, by the way." It was too easy to fall back into work mode, Booth hated it, but couldn't resist it either, this new information came tumbling out. "She was with Beatrice at the time of Oliver's death, well documented actually. Several staff members went in and out of the room, for different reasons, all of them registered on the security lock system when they slid their cards, times, dates, employee numbers, all of them saw Marilyn there in the room with Beatrice."

"That doesn't mean she didn't commit the other murders."

"No, it doesn't. But she's off the hook for this one."

"And Lelia?"

"We're following up on that one, no word yet. She says she was with a client at the spa, but they're having a hard time running down the client or staff that can confirm her story."

They both stared at the mounds of evidence laid out on the table in front of them. In an act of resignation Booth sighed, stepped over to the box, and pulled out Frank's file.

"Then there's this guy." Flipping casually through the file, he looked for a place to put him on the table.

"What? No. You said he wasn't a suspect anymore." Her defensiveness startled him, drawing his attention away from the file and back to her.

"I think we need to take another look, Bones." He watched her stand up a little straighter, square her shoulders, set her jaw. Years of experience meant he knew exactly what that look meant, he braced himself for impact.

"But...but you said they did, from the beginning, you said you had a gut feeling about them."

"I know I did, but the evidence doesn't support that."

"The evidence doesn't support it being Frank either." Booth shrugged. That was true enough, the evidence wasn't much help in pointing to one perpetrator or another.

"No, it doesn't rule him out, still, we need to consider him. Why are you getting so defensive about this, Bones? I don't understand. You're usually the one reminding me to consider _all_ the evidence." She ignored him.

"You...you called him a godsend because of that steak."

"He was." Turning sharply she walked away from him. He followed, trying to explain. "He was. But he may be a murderer too." Another step or two and he was standing right in front of her. "We have to consider it, Bones, have to."

"But you said he was just an obsessed fan." Booth chuckled, it wasn't a pleasant laugh, it wasn't out of humor, it was sardonic, he was chuckling at the absurdity, as a steady flow of visuals from Frank's little bungalow crowded his brain.

"Yeah, well, he's _definitely_ that." She didn't like the implication, shooting him a nasty look of disapproval. "He has a life sized cardboard cut out of you, Bones. Life. Sized."

"Being an obsessed fan doesn't make him a murderer."

He was tired and he knew she was too, she told him she hadn't slept. They were both hungry, at least he was, and she was notorious for not eating when she was all wrapped up in a case. All he wanted was to be with her, have some dinner maybe a good stiff drink, relax, _enjoy_ each other's company, maybe even get some sleep.

"Look, there's no reason to fight over this." He argued, wanting desperately to get this whole situation with her under control. But it backfired. Taking a step forward she leaned in to make her point.

"We are not fighting, this is not fighting." She poked his chest to punctuate every word. There was something about her when she was mad. Something in the way she stood, in the way she stopped using contractions and enunciated every word sharply. Strong, bold, insistent, he loved that part of her, found it terribly attractive, even when it was directed at him. He couldn't help himself, he challenged her.

"Really? What would you call it?" Stepping into her space, he caught those fiery eyes, holding them captive with his own.

"A discussion, it is a discussion, Booth, we are _discussing_ the case. We are _discussing_ suspects and...and...and evidence. You are saying that Frank is a suspect because he is a fan of my writing. I am saying that being a fan should _not_ automatically make him a suspect and does _not_ make him a murderer. I have millions of fans, none of whi-"

Reaching out he cupped her face with both hands and pulled her into a deep, desperate kiss. All his thoughts, every counter argument he could have logged were swallowed up by that kiss, that frantic, irresistible kiss that broke the floodgates, redirecting their whole night.

The last two nights apart left her with an unexpected sense of urgency and though her first reaction was to wrap her fists tight around his suit coat lapel and pull him in; she almost immediately pushed him back, just far enough away to start undressing him. His tie, suit coat, the annoying buttons on his dress shirt, all of it needed to go.

"Bones." His fingers still threaded through her hair. "Bones...I'm…" He kept distracting himself, first, her long elegant neck, the sound she made as he nuzzled her ear, her sweet dip where her collar bones met. "I...I'm...sorry...I shouldn't." Travelling quickly along the curves of her body, he ran one hand down around the curve of her ass, pulling up her leg along his thigh as he went. "I...shouldn't...it wasn-" Booth struggled to finish his thought, "fair."

"Shut up. "Booth's sensuous groan vibrated through her turning into a slight chuckle, but he obeyed.

His suit coat fell where they were standing. His shirt draped over the lamp they accidently knocked over in their frenzy. Her blouse on one of the beautifully upholstered chairs set slightly askew as they toppled past. His tie on a priceless carved steatite vase from ancient Egypt. Both of his shoes in the hall alongside one of hers, the other in the entrance to her bedroom. She wasn't sure where his pants landed and quite frankly she didn't care. All that mattered was him and the overwhelming relief she felt as her bare body settled against his, like cool sheets on a hot day.

Booth felt the same way, entranced, completely captivated by the way her hair fell against her pillows as they tumbled onto the bed. Her soft sounds of pleasure, his tantalizing reward for every welcomed touch, the arch of her body as she rose up to meet him, the way they vied for control, both demanding and yielding, each moment building on the last. The rise and fall, the pull and push, their mind, body, souls bound together in this one act, they both felt it so intensely. Such a universal act, but still, so unique and individual. This belonged to them, theirs alone.

Sated she collapsed onto his chest, letting her body rise and fall with his every breath, finding peace in the rhythm of him. She felt safe. The tender caress of his hands over her skin, long and smooth, lulled her. Normally, she was quite awake and energized after sex, this was different, she found herself calm and serene, ready for sleep.

Booth reached for the covers, pulling them up around them only to be scolded for moving.

"No." Exhausted and drowsy, she thought he was trying to get out of bed. "No...stay." Patting his chest lightly, she shushed him when he tried to explain.

Somewhere in her slumbrous mind she recognized a simple truth. It was easier to sleep lying next to Booth. Falling under his protection, tucked safely in his arms, afforded her a sense of security she'd never experienced with any other lover. It allowed her to let her guard down and fall into a deep sleep. Booth followed.

But when he woke it was to an empty bed. Slipping on his boxers, he stumbled through the dark into the opening of her hall where he stopped, leaning against the door jam he watched her from behind. He saw her, every beautiful little detail that was her, the contrast of his white dress shirt against her pale skin, the way wisps of her dark hair fell along her slim neck, the way she stood, weight all centered on one leg, the other pulled up just a little as she rubbed the back of her calf with it, then shifted her stance. She was the standard, his standard.

Quietly he made his way across the room coming to stand right behind her. She was fiddling with those files again, arranging and rearranging. Frank was on the table now, the corner of his mouth pulled up just a little, she listened to him whether she agreed or not, as he did with her. It was one of the things that made them great, mutual respect.

"Hey." Booth spoke quietly, his hands drifting to her hips, bare under the soft white fabric. "That's my shirt you're wearing. I think you should give that back." She chuckled, as she turned around in his arms.

"It's quite comfortable." Booth played with the buttons, his fingers tickling as they brushed lightly against her skin. "I'm not sure I'm ready to give it back." His eyes delighted in her playfulness, dancing along her features, playful, then faded, his mood shifting, becoming more serious.

"We need to make a deal." She looked hesitant, worried about what he might say next.

"What kind of a deal?"

"We need to agree that work stays at work, when we're together, when we're home, whether that's at my place or here, no work stuff, okay?" She looked unsure, so he continued. "We work hard, Bones, every day and long into most nights, and a lot of that time we're together. We need time away from it all, if we're going to make this thing work between us. We need to make that separation, okay?"

"Okay." She agreed, nodding. Booth was surprised she acquiesced so quickly. Though, he knew, it wasn't as easy as one declaration, they both knew that, it would be a process for them both.

The real test would be to see what she did with her elaborate spread of case files on the table. He kissed her on the forehead, then the lips, and headed for the kitchen, straight for the neglected boxes of takeout on the counter. Without a word he grabbed up a set of chopsticks and a couple boxes of takeout and headed back towards her bedroom knowing she was watching his every move.

"Booth?" Turning back towards her he paused but offered nothing, bait she couldn't refuse. "Where are you going?"

"I'm starving, Bones, I could eat a horse."

"Booth." There was a slight hint of annoyance in her voice as she dragged out his name, eyes wide, head tilted.

"Figurative, I'm not really gonna eat a...besides... _I_ have a date with a jacuzzi tub, _your_ jacuzzi tub."

"Booth. Not while you're in the tub."

"Oh, definitely while I'm in the tub, hot water, all those jets, and my favorite Wong Foos." He held the cartons up triumphantly, wiggling them back and forth just a little. "Life doesn't get much better." Taking a few more steps he stopped and turned toward her again, "except, you should join me." And he disappeared around the corner calling after her. "That would definitely be better."

"Booth."

He waited in the dark, just inside her bedroom, to see what she would do. Out of sight but close enough to hear her exasperated sigh and the heavy thud each file made as it hit the last, quickly filling the box.

"Wait for me." She called out to him. "I'm coming."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I just want to thank everyone for reading and for all the reviews and sweet messages. What a great network of support we have here. I am slowly catching up with all things real life. I have the second chapter of What She Never Knew She Wanted almost done and I'm coming to terms with the fact that there will most likely be three chapters in that little story. I will probably post that chapter and then the next one in this story, hopefully, in the next couple weeks.

On a side note, it's funny to me how this whole writing process works. It's not something I ever imagined for myself and never really studied so the process surprises me often. This argument between B & B was something that landed in my mind several chapters ago. I thought it would be in the story much sooner because of that, but it just wasn't fitting. After I wrestled with it over and over again I finally pushed it aside thinking it wasn't going to end up anywhere in this story. And, yet, here it is, surprising me, most of all. Strange thing this writing beast.

On another note, I need to thank snowybones for her constant support. At the drop of the hat she's always ready to read, edit, advise, and otherwise talk me off the ledge. I don't thank her enough for that. She's quite dear to my heart.

Thank you again for all your support. I look forward to hearing what you think of this chapter...oh...and I promise there will eventually be a tub scene before this whole thing is over. It temporarily went the way of the argument that stepped in instead.


	12. Chapter 12

"Don't." Booth barked, throwing his hand up, gesturing for them to stop advancing toward him. "Don't, just don't touch anything." He was circling her desk, pacing, searching for answers to unasked questions. Cam, Angela, and Hodgins stood outside Dr. Brennan's office door and watched, exchanging looks among themselves.

"Booth?" Cam stepped forward, about to cross the threshold.

She stopped momentarily when she saw him grab a pair of gloves from the box on the edge of Brennan's desk and struggle to put them on. The significance wasn't lost on her. Booth hated wearing gloves, avoided them if at all possible, everybody knew it after years of listening to his complaints. By his own account, the gloves were tight and restricting, uncomfortable, making it hard to examine evidence.

Cam took a couple of tentative steps into the office and watched her long time friend. Stiff and anxious, every muscle taut, his jaw tight and pulsing. She looked back over her shoulder at Angela and Hodgins. Her eyes grew wide with concern and she let out a sigh just about ready to speak when Booth's movement caught her attention. Grabbing a small padded envelope from the bottom corner, he flipped it over, and let the contents pour out and scatter out onto Dr. Brennan's desk. Pictures.

Clearing his throat, the small crowd of friends watched as his cheeks flushed.

Angela wiggled past her cohorts, drawn immediately to the pictures poured out on her best friend's desk.

"Okay, big guy, why don't you tell us what's going on here?" She tried to sound friendly and casual but her own sense of panic betrayed her. Booth didn't spook easily and he was clearly worried. He looked up, catching Angela's eyes, but didn't answer. Looking back down at the photographs, he started moving the pictures around so he could see them all. When he finally broke his silence, it wasn't to give answers, it was to ask questions.

"Did she say where she was going? Did she say anything, anything at all before she left?" His question wasn't directed at Angela, he eyed all three of them as he waited for any kind of response.

"Dude, I didn't even know she w-." Angela cut him off just as Hodgins stepped forward followed by Cam, all of them now gathered around the carefully arranged photographs.

"I did." She was reaching for the pictures when Booth shoved a handful of gloves in her face. "Maybe an hour ago." She looked across the desk at Cam. "We both did."

They were talking at the base of the forensics platform when Bren rushed by. There was nothing alarming about her behavior, just Brennan being Brennan. Intense, focused, pursuing some epiphany she'd just had, bag over her shoulder, pursed lips, arms swinging, she muttered something as she passed them. Something about the evidence and how it finally all made sense. Both ladies stumbled over the other's words as they added as many details as possible, trying to piece together what they remembered. "I thought she was going to see you, you know, to tell you about it."

He shook his head, letting his eyes fall momentarily closed as he forced himself to breathe. She'd left the Hoover the same way only a couple hours before her departure from the Jeffersonian, focused, intense, muttering, Booth explained.

"She must have opened that package when she returned." Cam added to the timeline. "It would have been waiting for her on her desk when she got in." She nodded a little as she spoke, eyes wide with concern.

The pictures. He was so wrapped up in his own worry that he hadn't even thought about all those pictures. Shots of him and Bones together the night of that 1930s dinner and dance at the Queen Anne's. After a long measured breath, Booth looked up.

"It was our cover, you know, discreet romantic getaway. It was all part of the act." His mouth felt dry, sticky, and his tone flat as he reasoned away the intimacy depicted in the photos taken that night. No one bought it, after years of these two beating around the bush all their coworkers saw in those pictures was a relationship deeply steeped in denial. Angela cut him off.

"Look...look here. This one's bent. See?" They all leaned in. There was a visible indentation. Dropping one hand she rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a small thumb drive, comparing it to the marks on the photo. Scouring the desk Booth lifted photos and envelopes, stacks of papers, journals, file folders, there was no flash drive to be found.

"Dammit. She must have taken it with her."

"And here, see someone slit the package open and taped it shut."

"I got the same envelope of pictures from Frank today." Booth reached into his inner suit coat pocket and pulled out a stack of photos. His gloved fingers sticking to the photographs, making it hard to thumb through them. "I got all the same pictures, with the exception of this one." He flopped down a picture of him and Don at the same themed event. "But, I didn't get any kind of drive and my envelope wasn't tampered with like that."

A loud snap broke the intense focus and all eyes turned to Hodgins as his gloved hand reached for the envelope. "I'm taking this." He looked around, Angela was glaring at him, her heart still racing from the startling noise. "What? There might be trace on it, maybe it can give us some kind of clues."

"Frank sent it." Booth grabbed the envelope back from Hodgins and flipped it over, tapping the sender's address in the upper left corner. They'd heard his name in case discussions, but still looked shocked at the ease and familiarity with which it rolled off Booth's tongue, like he was a friend, not a suspect.

Hodgins shrugged and was about to let it go when Angela interrupted. "Unless, someone else opened Bren's envelope and added the thumb drive to it." There were nods of silent agreement as Booth handed the envelope back to Hodgins.

Angela came around the desk, moving Booth over just a bit as she leaned down and started tapping away at the keys on Bren's keyboard. "She probably looked at whatever was on the drive. That must have been what she was ranting about." Booth looked up catching Cam's eyes across the desk. Booth swallowed hard and waited. "If she didn't delete them I can pull up what she was looking at. See, here, it loaded in her temp folder." Angela's fast paced clicks and clacks ended. Stepping back a little she clicked rapidly through what looked like another series of photographs. These weren't as posed as the pictures strewn out across the desk, they were definitely candid shots.

"That Bastard." Booth growled. Pictures of them in the cabana by the pool, at the tennis courts, the firing range. Most were more intimate, them lying on the chaise lounge together, kissing, her in his arms on the tennis courts, his hand high on her thigh. There was even one taken late at night by the pool when Bones had insisted she wouldn't be able to sleep without a swim. The shooting range was the only group of photos where they weren't pressed up against each other in some intimate position. "Undercover," he reminded the group, "that's it."

"I don't see anything in these photos, Booth, nothing earth shaking or case breaking." Angela moved aside and let him click through the pictures at his own pace.

"She must have seen something we aren't." His eyes darted frantically across the screen searching for some clue that would explain her sudden departure and complete radio silence. A second and third time through yielded nothing more. Cam, Hodgins, and Angela gathered around behind him as Booth sat down in her chair pulling himself up closer to the monitor, forcing himself to slow down, to look at it like she would look at it. "There!" Slapping the desk with both hands he bolted up from the chair. "See?" Everyone looked back at him blankly. "Frank." He pointed to the background. "Frank is right there."

"Which means?" Angela asked.

"Well, it means Frank didn't take these pictures, someone else did." No one seemed as excited about that as he was. Pulling the gloves from his hands he threw them in the trash and headed for the door leaving his bewildered team with instructions. "Angela, work your magic, see who's in the background of all those pictures, especially suspects, who isn't in them is as important as who is. Send the photos to my phone. Hodgins, get on that trace, see if you can narrow it down, somewhere on the grounds of the Queen Anne doesn't really help. I need you to be as specific as you can. I'm headed for the resort. If she calls let her know I'm coming and call me immediately."

"Booth." Angela called after him. Already outside her office and headed for the exit, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Do you still think she's in danger?"

It seemed like a ridiculous question even as it left her lips.

"Yes." He was somber, walking backwards for a couple steps before turning and running.

He was well on his way to the Queen Anne, speeding, weaving in and out of traffic. It was way too quiet and he had way too much time to think; reassuring himself wasn't working. The problem being, he knew something was wrong, just knew it. It was a feeling he knew all too well, a feeling refined over five years of experience and confirmed by countless times his hunches saved her life. The fact that she wasn't answering her phone added evidence to intuition. She'd answer, if she could, if it was nothing, she'd have no reason not to answer. There was something more going on and everything inside him screamed it was trouble.

His phone rang. It wasn't Bones, not her ring tone. Still he jumped to answer, hoping for good news.

"Before you say anything, she hasn't called." Angela could hear the muted sounds of his siren blaring in the background, and fought to breathe against the tightness of her chest. "I just wanted you to know that the computer's working on the facial recognition. And, I might have a reflection of the photographer. I'm still working on it."

"Good." There was a long stretch of silence before Angela filled the space with more information.

"Hodgins doesn't have anything yet, but it shouldn't be long." He nodded, she couldn't see it, of course, his mind was preoccupied, running through a million different scenarios that might be waiting for him when he arrived at the Queen Anne. It wasn't until Angela cleared her throat that he realized he never answered her.

"Good." He was nodding again. "Hey, Ange, I gotta…"

"I know."

"I'm almost there."

"Okay."

"Hey, from here on out just text me, okay?"

"Of course."

He could see the gates of the resort, he sped up, while under his breath a constant repetitious plea was working its way heavenward. He just wanted her to be alive, alive and safe. He couldn't lose her, not now, not before he had a chance to build a life with her, that would be cruel, a terrible injustice dished out by a vengeful universe.

Slamming the truck into park he jumped out, pulling on his vest and checking his weapons, the heavy sound of velcro and metal broke the silence of the isolated resort as he systematically ran himself through the paces. He could see Bones' car, right there in the front row of the parking lot, empty. He didn't stop, pressing forward, scanning the property as he advanced. Beatrice Fortney came running across the front of the grounds to greet him. He didn't stop for her either, taking the stone steps that led up to the lobby two at a time.

"Agent Booth." She turned and followed him as he bolted past her. "Agent Booth." He didn't answer. "Agent Booth." Booth was already through the lobby and headed out the back doors.

"Where's Frank?" It was the only acknowledgement Booth was willing to give her.

"I don't know." Chasing him she tried to keep up, her heels clacking loudly on the tile floors, her footing unstable as she slid just a little with each frantic step. "He's not answering my pages, he clocked in but his card hasn't been active since early this morning." Booth only nodded, moving quickly past the pool and tennis courts towards employee housing. "We looked in his apartment, he isn't there."

"When?"

"A couple of hours ago?" She didn't know, not exact details anyway, time seemed warped and distorted these last couple of days, her whole world turned on its head.

"Lelia?" Beatrice was doing her best to cooperate, trying to prove herself the kind of helpful a person wouldn't be if they were guilty. But, she was tired and frustrated, letting out a heavy, aggravated sigh, she answered.

"I don't know." He shot her a look that screamed irritation at her incompetence.

"Open it." She fumbled with the keys, her hands uncoordinated by nervousness. Following him through the gate, she meant to follow him. Booth tensed and turned abruptly, bringing his hand up to stop her. "Wait here. No farther." He'd already called in for support and meant to keep Beatrice busy waiting to guide them back to employee housing. She nodded in understanding.

Pulling his weapon, he training it with both hands as he moved quickly down the path. The resort was old, very old, and nowhere did it show it's age more than this part of the compound. Overgrown trees and brush cast deceptive shadows as he wound his way down the trail, his eyes darted, processing every detail surrounding him, every possibility, but he couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to Bones.

Safety, when this was all over they would have a long talk about safety and protocol and not running off without telling him when they were hunting serial killers. In his mind, Booth lectured his independent minded partner. Then he prayed Bones would make some noise so he could find her, begging God to give him the chance to yell at her just one more time.

Booth was almost to Frank's bungalow, lining himself up against the wall next to the window he would roll just a little and be able to see inside. The glass was old, small square panes connected by raised metal work that was thick from years of layered paint. Water deposits and filth formed a heavy film making it hard to see anything with any clarity, but he was sure he saw movement.

In one fluid action, Booth was around the corner, kicking the door in, and charging into the small bungalow. Frank was on the floor, his hands duct taped behind his back, his legs at the ankles, with a cloth jammed deep into his mouth. His eyelids were heavy, as he fought to remain conscious. Booth slid down on his knees pulling the cloth out, holding Frank's head in his hands.

"Where is she?" Booth was loud and insistent. He could see Frank struggling to stay conscious and he needed answers before he passed out. His eyelids heavy, his body mostly limp, he jerked each time Booth reiterated the question. "Frank, Frank, where is she?" Frank was trying to talk, mumbling through a dry mouth, but guttural sounds were all he managed. "Come on, buddy, I need your help here."

"Heh...Heh...Hep." It was no use, he couldn't make it out, it was nothing more than nonsensical sounds.

"That's it, keep trying, Frank."

"Hep...Heb…"

A sharp gasp drew Booth's attention back toward the door.

"Hepburn." Beatrice locked eyes with Booth. She spoke flatly, knowing exactly what Frank was trying to say. "Hepburn," she repeated, swallowing hard, "he's saying Hepburn." She'd disobeyed Booth's orders to stay away, gathering up a security guard and a golf cart sometime after he left her at the gate to employee housing.

Booth could feel Frank move in his arms. Looking back down, he saw him close his eyes offering a feeble nod in agreement. Setting the man down on the floor, Booth was up and out the door within seconds. Beatrice backed quickly out to his way as he brushed past.

Pointing at the man with Beatrice, he spoke quickly. "You, stay here with him, he needs medical attention," then directed his attention to Beatrice. "What's Hepburn?"

"A cabin, a private cabin that hasn't been used in years."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Hello and Happy Spring!

Thank you for reading, for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! This has been such a fun story to write and I truly appreciate you taking the journey with me.

Questions, comments, thoughts are ALWAYS appreciated, they really keep me writing.

~DG


	13. Chapter 13

"I'll have to show you; you'll never find it on your own." Beatrice Fortney was direct, serious, and strong, though Booth was sure he heard a slight tremble in her voice. This was the lady he remembered meeting with during their stay at the Queen Anne, not the scared shitless lady bending over backwards to clear herself as a suspect. She directed him toward the golf cart with a no nonsense sweeping gesture. "It's not close. Not at all."

They rode in silence at first. Booth vigilantly took in his surroundings, creating a mental map of sorts, looking for details that might standout, for natural trail markers. She watched him carefully, her eyes darting between him and the path which quickly went from paved to dirt and gravel. His strong jaw ticking violently. He'd communicated, gave directions, received status reports, all through the little earpiece who's cord curled down the side of his neck, disappearing into his jacket. It was surreal to her, like the plot line of over-dramatic TV shows and movies, not something that happened in real life, not in her life anyway. The protected oasis of the Queen Anne, _her_ Queen Anne, was about to be breached, overrun by law enforcement.

There was no way to tell what would follow. The press? Cameras, news outlets, gossip columnists? There couldn't be anything worse, she thought, the world she maintained shattered, identities revealed, all those secrets put on public display. Mentally, she ran through a list of current guests and was about to convey orders of her own when Booth grabbed the radio from her hand and turned it off.

"No." He barked. "Everything needs to stay just the way it is. My team will handle the guests and your staff, understood?" She was reaching for the two way radio with no acknowledgement of his orders. Booth pulled his arm back moving it farther out of her reach. "I understand your concerns, okay? I get it. We will do our best to keep this from turning into a media circus and protect your guests and their identities, but, you have to listen to me." He watched her closely, waiting for some acknowledgement, his resolve equal to her own. "We're talking about the safety of my partner. Someone has her and if word gets out that we're here, she's as good as dead, understood?"

"Okay...okay...I understand." Booth held her gaze momentarily. Satisfied, he gave her back the small radio and watched as she hooked it back on her belt. There was a darkness in his eyes, she found unnerving, a fervent resolve. There was no doubt in her mind that he'd do whatever he had to, to protect his partner. She watched as he took in a long measured breath, turning his attention back to his surroundings.

Gruesome crime scene photos haunted him, his mind drifting back to the stacks of photographs tucked into case files. Stab wounds, desecrated flesh, beautiful young women barely recognizable anymore. Discarded, dumped not far from the Queen area looked just like the park where the women were similarities too striking. He always found her, he tried to reassure himself. Whenever she did something like this, something rash or stupid, rushing into a situation without thinking, he always found her, always in the nick of time, always before it was too late.

"Katharine Hepburn loved it up here." Beatrice offered up hesitantly when she couldn't take the silence any longer. "Came here as often as her schedule would allow, always with _company_." Dragging the word out, she added a little innuendo to her tone for emphasis. "Couples, the kind of couples who come here, can't go out to the movies or tennis or a night of fine wine and dancing, they can't socialize in normal circles, but they can here. That's what we provide, a place to be normal when your relationship isn't."

Booth wasn't paying attention, he was just trying to hold on, his fist gripped tightly to one of the front bars of the motorized cart. Overgrown brush, rocks, and deep potholes caused by years of rain, made for a bumpy ride. The terrain blurred together until everything looked the same. She was right, there was no way anyone could find anything up here without a guide.

"But, we have guests, have _had_ guests in the past, like Katharine, that need privacy beyond what the main lodge can offer. We provide a place for them too, a refuge, everything they could ever want, we bring to them." Beatrice looked over at him, her attention drawn between the trail and the man sitting next to her. When he didn't respond, she let out a deep sigh and kept talking. "People do that for different reasons, you know? Sometimes their careers are at stake or they're in positions of power and need assurance their dalliance will never make it into the news. Sometimes they're engaged in a _lifestyle_ that society isn't ready to accept or maybe they weren't ready to make that lifestyle public. They're more comfortable if no one but the staff, and only select staff at that, know. We've even had guests who never interacted directly with the staff at all, regardless of the length of their stay. It's tricky, but we can make almost any stipulation a reality. We meet all the needs of the eccentric.

"Katharine was perfectly comfortable with her own sextual choices, ahead of her time I suppose, in that way." Beatrice looked over at her passenger once more, his head still turned away from her, looking off into the distance. She cleared her throat, taking a moment before she continued, finding a small measure of peace in sharing the history of this place she loved so much. "Not society, no society was far from ready for a Hollywood starlet to openly swing both ways, if you know what I mean. Even today there are a lot of people who would crucify her for that. Here at the Queen Anne we don't judge, we say that and we really mean it. This place was a hideaway for her, a place she could be herself, love whoever she wanted to love, without judgement. These cabins provid-"

"Stop." Beatrice startled, gasped at his unexpected utterance. "Stop, the cart. Now." Fumbling, her motions were uncoordinated as she tried to regain her composure. "Now, back it up, back over there, behind that tree."

Booth saw the house as they came up over a small ridge line. Below them, a thick hedge, protecting a small, but beautiful garden. In the middle sat a two story house, traditional, yellow clapboard, black shutters. It was stunning in the most simple ways. Set apart, one minute thick forest, wild and out of control; the next, bright flowers, green grass, bubbling fountains, even a white washed gazebo draped in climbing roses. Picturesque, like something out of a fairytale, the Hepburn was a world all its own.

He was out of the cart before she could completely stop. Squatting low, he skidded several times as he made his way to the hedge, peering over the top and surveying the property before making his way back up the hill. He cleared away fallen leaves and debris down to the dark moist dirt and motioned for Beatrice to join him. Grabbing a stick, he snapped it in half before shoving it toward her.

"Draw it. Draw the house. Windows, doors, layout, all of it." Beatrice stood frozen, holding the stick. Every minute counted, every second gave his partner's captor the advantage. He could feel the knot in his stomach grow heavy and drop, but he knew if he didn't calm down and handle Beatrice carefully she would be useless to him. Standing, he gently grabbed the frazzled woman by the shoulders and watched as she looked down at his hands, then back up, catching his eyes. Booth took a deep breath to calm himself before addressing her again.

"Beatrice, I need your help." He spoke softly. Her wide eyes betrayed her nerves, still, she gave a little nod of acknowledgement. "Good, okay, good. So, here's what we're going to do. We're going to bend down here and you're going to draw the plans out for me so I know what I'm getting into down there. Can you do that for me?" She took a long deep breath before nodding in agreement. This was better, he could tell, she was starting to calm down. "And then you're going to get in this golf cart and you're going to head back to the resort, okay?" She nodded again, this time with a little more confidence. "Good...good...and when you get there you're going to meet Special Agent Allison Harper. She's the agent in charge up there, got it? Special Agent Allison Harper. She's waiting for you. You are going to lead her and her team here." Without saying a word, Beatrice knelt down in the dirt and started drawing with the stick.

It all was a blur from there. She left. He headed back down toward the hedge, making his way around it until he found a good place to jump over, near the back of the house. Adrenaline coursing through his system, his mind and body taking in information, calculating, moving quickly through the possibilities, all his senses were on high alert.

He paused for a moment, adjusting the gun in his hands, his back up against the cold hard clapboard. Closing his eyes momentarily, he took a couple deep breaths in quick succession, huffing them out. He was next to a window. He rolled just a little against the wall so he could peer in. First this window, then the next three, yielded nothing.

Crouching low, he made his way under the window he was standing next to, around the corner of the house, and along side another window. This one offering a better view. He could see straight through the living room into what must be the kitchen. Through the sheer curtains he could see the figure of a woman pacing back and forth. She kept approaching something on the counter, where she'd pause then walk away. She seemed agitated, angry, though he couldn't make out what she was saying, her words muffled by the thick walls and closed windows. It was enough for him, based on Beatrice's drawing and what he saw through the window he knew exactly where he needed to enter the house.

One fluid move and he was around the building, standing at the back door to the kitchen. Peering around the edge of the small window in the door, he sought to assess the situation. Lelia. He could see her clearly now, no surprises there, she was exactly who he expected once he put it all together. Bones was sitting on a wooden chair, between the back door and Lelia. Her hands taped, like Frank's, behind her back. She was moving. That was good.

He was careful, peeking through the window, he couldn't look for very long without running the risk of being seen and he wasn't ready to give up the advantage of surprise quite yet. Lelia was ranting loudly, Booth listened, but she wasn't making any sense. He watched as she rubbed her face, over and over along her cheeks, tears. She was obviously upset. Slamming her hands down on the counter, she pushed off and started pacing again.

When she moved, he could see a large black radio sitting on the counter. It was on, he could hear it crackle and pop. Cringing, he pulled back along the wall. There was no telling what information she had from listening to the conversations on that radio. No way of knowing if Beatrice listened to him and kept her chatter off the line. Booth stood still for a moment then ducked under the window in the door and moved to the other side for a better view pausing as a helicopter flew overhead toward the resort.

Wiggling, Bones worked frantically on the tape around her wrists, trying to free herself. She'd stop every time Lelia turned around and faced her. That was good, Booth acknowledged, she was conscious, obviously aware enough to process and work toward freeing herself. It was an important difference, a good difference, compared to Frank. Lelia was getting louder and more distraught. It sounded like she was blaming Bones for something, for what happened to Frank, maybe, it wasn't clear. What was clear was that the situation was deteriorating quickly.

Booth watched from behind as Lelia lifted a small brown bottle up in the air inserting a needle to draw out the liquid. He needed to act quickly, before she had the chance to inject whatever that was into his partner. Closing his eyes momentarily, he took a deep breath and kicked backwards busting through the door and turning in one movement. Immediately, he trained his gun directly on Lelia.

"Drop it!" He yelled. It didn't startle her, not the way it should, she immediately moved towards Bones, syringe in hand. "Drop it or I'll shoot." But, he didn't shoot, not immediately and now Lelia was closer to Bones. Adjusting he moved, countering Lelia's moves. He was closer now and angled better. No longer behind her, he could finally see Bones.

His attention torn between his partner and her captor, catching glimpses of the woman he loved. Blood trickled down from a gash along her hairline and she was scraped and dirty, blood matted in her hair. His heart twisted as her eyes caught his, tears welling up in those beautiful stormy eyes he loved so much, relief tangled with pain and fear. And though she couldn't speak a word, a rag shoved deep into her mouth, he could hear her screaming for him to be careful.

"I...I...can't. I can't _just_ drop it." Booth's head snapped back to Lelia, screeching, her face contorted and knotted with desperation. "You...you don't understand what _she_ made me do to him."

"Okay...okay...why don't you tell me, why don't you put what she made you do. Why don't you put that syringe down and tell me what she made you do to Fran-"

"No. No. It's too late, _it's too late_ , he's dead." Lelia raged, tears streaming down her face. "And it's _all_ her fault." She lunged toward Bones again, but Booth was ready this time, faster, moving in between Lelia and Bones, which was exactly where he wanted to be.

"He's not, Lelia, he's not dead, I saw him, he was alive and they were getting him medical help." She shook her head violently in disbelief. "Really, I'm being honest with you here, okay?. You can still help him, okay? You can help him by telling me what you did. That will help the doctors treating him, right? If you tell me what you did, I can let the doctors know and they can help him."

"No." She sobbed, uncontrollably. "No, it's too late."

"Hear that, overhead, you hear that, that's them, right there, taking him to the hospital, right now." The heavy sound of helicopter blades, buzzed over the house, low enough to make the house shudder as the sound bounced off the walls and roof. "You can help him, tell me what you did to Frank." He could see her resolve start to crack. "You can still help him, Lelia, he needs your help."

Collapsing in on herself, Lelia fell, her knees hit the hardwood floors, her hands went limp sending the syringe rolling in front of her. Booth moved quickly up behind her, kicking the syringe out of reach, and holstering his gun. There was no fight left in her, compliant, she followed his directions and was cuffed, no longer a danger.

Turning his attention next to his partner, he knelt in front of her, his frantic hands working first to get that awful rag out of her mouth. He cupped her face in his palms of his hands. Strong, but, so tender and careful, they offered safety and protection. Gasping for air, she let her forehead fall to his.

"I knew you'd come." She whispered. "I knew you'd find me."

"Always." He whispered. "Always."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and messages and your continuing support in follows and favorites. I haven't had time to respond to them, but I have read and cherished every one of them. Sorry, this chapter took longer to finish that I had hoped, making the cliffhanger stretch out a bit longer than I wanted. Hopefully, these next couple chapters will come faster and we can wrap this story up. It has been so much fun to write (aside from those moments of indecision and over-thinking when it tortured me! Thank you to snowybones for talking me off the ledge more than once!)

Happy Weekend!

Much love

~DG


	14. Chapter 14

Warm water swirled around her as the bathtub filled. Legs pulled up, she traced the deep purple bruises on her knees before wrapping her arms tight around them. Letting her cheek rest on her arms, she watched the bathroom door, waiting for Booth to come check on her. She could hear him talking to Angela. Their muffled voices traveled down the hall and through her bedroom, probably saying goodbyes.

The front door closed.

It wasn't long before he appeared, leaning against the threshold of her bathroom. His white dress shirt not as crisp or clean as it was when they left for work early that morning. Sleeves, rolled up a turn, resting on his forearm, his tie already loose, top button unbuttoned, she loved this look, it sent a thrill rushing through her. Catching his eyes momentarily, she held them captive. Booth smiled.

"God, you're gorgeous." She laughed.

"I don't think so." Her fingers drifted lightly along the stitches on her forehead, "not tonight, anyway."

"I do." Pushing off the door jam, he took a couple of steps closer, close enough to reach for her chin and gently tip her face up so he could get a closer look. His touch was careful as he swooped a stray bit of hair, tucking it behind her ear. "Are you taking the medicine they gave you?"

"No," she reached behind her and grabbed a short tumbler with a couple fingers of scotch in it. Wiggling it back and forth just a little, "but I'm fine."

Booth shook his head and laughed.

"I don't like the way painkillers make me feel...slow...slower than normal." She took another sip. He watched as the burn hit her. "I'll share."

"Sounds like an offer I can't refuse." Booth stood.

Loosening his tie, he pulled it out from underneath his collar, then lifted his chin a little and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. Setting her drink aside, Bones turned, folding her arms over the edge of the tub, taking in every detail as he undressed. This was all still new between them and she found herself captivated by the contour and flex of each muscle. Booth smiled, that charming look of confidence that made her weak in the knees.

He had a few scrapes and scratches himself, nothing major, all in the line of duty he told her, dismissing them. But then he didn't wrestle with Lelia, not like she did. Booth was there when she gave her statement, heard every detail as Bones relived the whole ordeal. Good at compartmentalizing, that was her mantra in difficult times. Her ability to objectively separate herself was unparalleled.

She surprised Frank, he wasn't expecting her, which seemed odd to her, but then she thought it was Frank that sent her the memory stick with the photographs. She was talking to him when Lelia burst into his little employee bungalow. Furious, Lelia attacked right away, grabbing pieces of Frank's precious memorabilia, hurling them across the room, then ran straight at her. They wrestled. Frank tried to help, intervening, begging Lelia to stop. It didn't help. If anything it made Lelia more enraged. They ran into bookshelves and the coffee table. Bones, from her own account, was winning until Lelia reached for a heavy skull shaped book end and swung at Brennan's head. That's where the cut came from, Lelia hit her so hard it split her skin and left her temporarily unconscious. She woke up duct taped to the chair in the Hepburn cabin.

Booth's pants hit the floor, his cocky belt buckle clanked against the tile. She smiled, the hint of an appreciative growl escaped her. He was perfect, standing there in nothing but his colorful striped socks. Teetering on one foot then the other he took his socks off, tossing them aside. Booth stepped into the tub, settling behind her. Reaching out, his hands grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back between his legs, his arms came up around her as she laid back against his chest.

It was hard, when she was missing, hard when he realized Lelia held her captive, hard seeing her tied up. He wasn't sure it was any harder than it was before they were involved in a personal relationship. He loved her then, easily as much as he did now. But, there were differences, allowances, that he couldn't take if they were going to keep this relationship a secret. It left him with what seemed like seconds to hold her before he had to step back and be professional. Seconds in the middle of a day that seemed like it was much longer than twenty-four hours.

As her body fell back against his, as his arms wrapped around her and he held her close, as he let his lips fall on the top of her head, his eyes closed and he took a long deep breath. This was what he wanted all day, to hold her, like this, feel her breathe, hear her heart beat, with nothing and no one to dictate how he should be with her. She must've felt the same way because he felt her whole body relax into his, each breath seemed longer and slower, a little more even and sure. She hummed in response to his touch and it vibrated through his whole body.

They stayed that way for a long time. Scooping water up over her to keep her warm, he let his hands drift across her body, his fingers trace her black and blue battle wounds. He laid simple kisses here and there until he felt her start to stir. She never rested long, it wasn't in her nature, she was always in motion, always doing or thinking. On this night, he waited her out, unwilling to give up this satisfying state any sooner than absolutely necessary.

"Booth," she broke the silence hesitantly. "I know we agreed not to discuss cases at home...but…" She pulled her lip between her teeth, anxious to know if his interrogation of Lelia yielded any kind of explanation for her actions.

"Oh, right, of course, Bones." He took a long deep breath and let it out slowly. "She...wow...she's crazy." There were so many reasons he didn't want to have this conversation.

They were together at first, together, at the Hoover, and it was all going to plan. Lelia in the interrogation room, Sweets behind the glass with Bones. He was just beginning his questioning when Charlie knocked on the door and passed him a message. Frank was dead, Fentanyl poisoning. It was heavy news. Bones and her big heart would take it hard, he knew that about her. She'd grown fond of Frank, was sure of his innocence. He certainly wasn't going to spring this bit of news on her in front of Lelia. She suffered enough at the hands of this crazy woman, he didn't want Bones to have to listen to whatever lies or twisted reasoning Lelia served up about Frank.

Leaving the interrogation room, he joined Bones and Sweets.

"He didn't make it, Bones, they tried everything but he didn't make it." Booth handed her the note and waited for her reaction.

Her eyes, wild and stormy, darted around the room. He should've pulled her aside, taken her to his office and told her alone, away from Sweets. Clearing her throat, Booth waited for her response.

"My head hurts."

"Let me call Angela. She can take you home and I'll finish up here." She looked like she was about to protest and Booth jumped to persuade her before she could argue. "I'll come by your place when I'm done here." Booth's eyes darted back over to Sweets, he caught himself, maybe promising to go over there was too personal, he didn't want to give anything away. "Or...or I can call when I'm done, either way, Bones, I promise I'll tell you every little detail." Damn Sweets, he could see the man's shrinky radar spinning out of control. "I'm calling Angela. C'mon, Bones, you can wait in my office." One hand opened the door, the other ushered her out.

When Booth didn't come right back, Sweets went looking for him. He caught a glimpse of the partners across the bullpen and stopped, opting to stand back and watch them. There they were in Booth's office with the door closed. Sweets thanked god for the glass walls. This was a rare opportunity to observe the pair from a distance, they were so guarded, it was impossible to see how they really interact, just the two of them.

Booth was leaning casually up against his desk, legs stretched out, his arms folded across his chest, just watching her. She was over by his window, looking out, she must be crying because she wiped her cheeks a couple of times. Standing, Booth made his way across the office, put his hand on her shoulder and turned her around, folding her right into his arms. It was so fluid, so casual, and, much to his surprise, Dr. Brennan seemed to just fall into his embrace, no hesitation, no resistance. Sweets nodded to himself, they were closer than they let on, a satisfied smile spread across his face.

"It's not what you think." Startled, Sweets stared back at Angela, who shot him a knowing look. "It's a guy hug or, like I like to call it, denial. But, trust me, nothing has changed between them, nothing ever does."

He opened his mouth to argue, only to close it again.

Angela patted him on the back as she brushed past him.

Booth said goodbye, told Bones again that he would see her as soon as he was done, and asked Angela to stay until he got there. Squeezing her hand, he held it tight until she stepped too far away to hold it.

"So she confessed?" Bones stretched against him, readjusting herself in his arms, bringing his attention back to her.

"Hmmm?" It took a moment for her question to register. When it did, he answered before she could ask again. "Oh, yeah, she spilled all the beans."

"Beans?"

"Confessed...she confessed." Booth felt her pull away, a rush of water filling the gap between them. He wanted her back in his arms, but understood, she wanted to focus on what he was saying. He waited until she got turned and settled to continue. "She...umm...she didn't mean to kill Frank, she loved him."

"Loved him? Funny way of showing it."

"Well, yeah, I agree, but, she said it was love. More like obsession, like a stalker, if you ask me, but she thought it was love." Booth sat up a little, leaning in, she felt his hands run along the back of her calves, down to her ankles, he needed that connection with her. "She confessed to killing those ladies too, the women, and Oliver, though her original plan was just to kill the women."

"Because they replaced her friends?"

"Well, by her account, at first that was just a happy coincidence. Marilyn was angry about the betrayal, in fact apparently she and Beatrice wouldn't shut up about it, so they seemed like a good target, but that's not why she killed them."

This was the part he didn't want to tell her, but it was unavoidable and better she hear it from him. Reaching for her tumbler, he took a drink, letting the warmth of the liquor run down his throat before setting the glass back down. "She said she killed them for Frank."

"What? For Frank?"

"Yeah, Frank was such a huge fan of yours and she wanted to give him the opportunity to meet you, you know, wanted him to be able to watch you work a case. It was her idea to have him assigned as our concierge. She went straight to Beatrice about it when she saw us in the lobby, that was why he was so late that first night, he wasn't originally assigned to us."

"But how did she know that I would be working the case?"

"She didn't, I mean there wasn't any guarantee, but she did her homework. When they searched the Hepburn they found old court transcripts and newspaper clippings, all your books, even some forensics journals, they were all marked up, highlighted with scribbled notes everywhere." It was the look in her eyes that killed him, she looked so hurt. "Lelia killed them, desiccated and disposed of their bodies in a way that the case would get bumped to us. That's why she dumped them in the national park, making it a federal case. It was all some sorta twisted act of love, a gift to Frank."

Her shoulders sunk, her whole body collapsing under the weight of it. Booth, hands tucked behind her calves, pulled her closer and turned her around, gathering her back into his arms.

"This isn't your fault, you know that right?"

"Intellectually, yes, I know it's not my fault, but...but...still, it's horrible." Her eyes fell shut, and he felt her take a careful breath. "And I can't help but entertain the idea that if I never wrote the books, if they weren't so popular, things like this would never happen."

"Temperance." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, held her just a little tighter hoping it would somehow ease the pain of it all. "This is not about you, I know it looks like that on the surface but people like this, they're gonna do these things regardless. It's not your fault and besides, think of all the good you've done, think about all the girls pursuing science because of you, because they read your books and it made them feel strong and capable."

She nodded, but it felt hollow to Booth. Sitting up, she curled into herself and looked down at the water. She seemed distant, so far away even though she was right there, their bodies touching. Booth watched her think, watched her tuck stray whisps of hair behind her ears, wiggle her toes against the bottom of the tub, until she laid back against him. Grabbing his hand, she pulled his arms back up around her, settling into his embrace, she was ready to continue.

"But why kill Oliver?"

"When he showed up with a new mistress, Lelia lost it. I think Sweets called it a form of transference or something like that. Somewhere in her mind, Frank was just like Oliver and you were just like those young replacements he kept bringing to the resort. She wasn't about to kill Frank, but she could kill Oliver, she thought it would send a message, be loyal to the women who love you."

"That...that doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, well I told you she was crazy."

"And what about Frank?"

"Frank was an accident, she just meant to knock him out while she dealt with you. Lelia was angry at him. She thought her plan backfired, that he loved you instead of her. She cut the envelope open and put the memory stick in hoping you'd see the pictures and think Frank was trying to blackmail you. Then you'd be mad at him and she would get him back." Bones nodded against his chest, letting out a heavy sigh. "She was jealous already and then you showed up in his apartment and she just lost it."

"Did Frank know what she did? Did she tell him?"

"I don't know, I mean, Lelia said she told him everything, that he was still conscious, conscious enough to be upset about it, anyway. One thing I know for sure, he was worried about you to the very end."

"Poor Frank."

"Yeah, he deserved better." They sat in silence for what seemed to Booth like a long time, water whirling around them. Keeping him close, she held his hands where they fell, his arms draped around her shoulders. Booth gave her a little more time to think before breaking the silence.

"Hey, you know, maybe that's enough about the case for now. How 'bout we move on, do something else. Do you want me to wash your hair?" Nodding, she sat upright. There was still dried blood and antiseptic all around the wound and in her hair.

One little tug and her hair tumbled out of the band that held it up in a messy bun. Tenderly, he scooped those dark curls back behind her shoulders, his hands barely brushing across her neck and back. It sent chills racing through her and she shuddered as his hands gathered her hair and tipped her head back so the water would run down her back, away from her wound. It felt good, to be cared for in such a simple and beautiful way, a way she'd never experienced before Booth.

The sweet fresh smell of her shampoo filled the steamy bathroom. Massaging her scalp, Booth lathered her hair. Soft sounds of pleasure escaped her as she fell under the spell of his sweet attention. She needed this, to be cared for, loved in this way, and Booth welcomed the chance to do it. It gave him a small measure of control back after a long day seemingly designed to prove he couldn't always be there to protect his fiercely independent partner.

Guarding her wound with one hand, he rinsed her hair with the other until it was smooth and sleek down her back. Swooping it to the side, he laid a simple kiss at the base of her neck eliciting a quiet hum of contentment. Soft curls sprung to life, warranting another kiss, tucked in closer by her ear. Booth closed his eyes, his lips pressed against her soft skin, and took a long satisfying breath as she let her body relax into his. This was better. Life was better like this.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Oh sweet readers, thank you so much for your patience with my busy life. Your support and encouragement have been fuel to my muse and carried me through some rough waters, both personal, as in real life, and struggles I was wrestling with as a writer. Your favorites, follows, reviews and private messages mean the world to me, and I apologize for not being better at responding. Maybe I'll catch up one of these days. Though probably not in May or early June, I have a son graduating from high school and there are a million awards assemblies and ceremonies that go along with that. I hope to get the next chapter out soon, despite all of that. This is me, crossing my fingers!

Special thanks goes out to snowybones for enduring my constant anxiety over this chapter and handling my requests to reread parts over and over as I changed a few words here and there with the patience of Job. She is a godsend! I think I had her read that last couple paragraphs about a million times.

I debated nearly every word of this chapter with great anxiety. It may have been one of the toughest chapters I've ever written, though I can't really figure out why. Hopefully, the end result has been worth it. I'll just sit over here while you fantastic readers decide...refreshing my email, watching for notifications, and nibbling on my nails nervously.

There's a little bit of story left in this one, now that the case is all wrapped up. My mind can't help but start to work on the next one, I keep telling it to shut up and wait it's turn!

On a side note, the actual show has been fantastic this year! I love what the new show runners are doing with it, even though this last episode what rather creepy. It feels like they're getting back in touch with the early seasons and putting the drama back to the dramedy - which I love.

~DG


	15. Chapter 15

Haloed lights strung across the outdoor venue swung in the breeze adding a shimmering of light to the open air dance floor. The rich, full sounds of a live band wafted across the Jeffersonian's rose garden and hung, like a backdrop, to hushed conversations and laughter. It was a mingling of Washington's elite, all about the business of posturing and politics. Not really his scene, though she was flawless when it came to these kinds of events. The light in her eyes as she talked about her work. Her strong confident grip as she shook hand after willing hand. The way she stood tall, statuesque, or let her head tilt just a little in low laughter. He could hear it, like he was standing there right next to her. Booth chuckled to himself as he swirled his drink, watching the deep amber liquid roll in circles around the glass. She was the Jeffersonian's star and she was shining bright tonight.

Obligation brought them out, a gala celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Jeffersonian Institute, no way out of this one for either of them. The space was packed with people of import, congressmen, senators, dignitaries, and rich hoity-toity types. See and be seen, the dirty side of keeping their generous budget and large donations, Cam reminded them in her rather lengthy but demanding pep talk. They were to be paraded about as evidence of the prestigious institution's purpose and relevance.

He watched Bones from afar, blending into the crowd, carefully orchestrating moments he could steal her attention, stand by her briefly, give her a little reminder, a glance, a touch, a whispered promise. It was an elaborate game of catch and release. She was never out of his sight for long and always on his mind. He knew this night was going to be like this.

Only a couple hours ago he stood in the hall right outside the ladies restroom in the Medico-Legal Lab, hands shoved deep in his pockets, rocking back and forth impatiently. He wanted to be alone with her then, ahead of the rush, before what he knew would prove to be an intolerably long evening pretending they were still "just" partners.

"C'mon, Bones." He hollered as he passed the ladies restroom. Taking a deep breath, he checked the time and waited for a response. Nothing. She called him in a panic, running late, no time to go home and change before the gala, begging him to bring her dress and a long list of items to the Jeffersonian so she could get ready there. "We're late." He reminded her as he spun around in sharp military fashion and started to head back in the other direction, still no response. "We both know how much you hate being late."

It wasn't about being late, not really. It was those thirty seconds he wanted to steal. Those thirty seconds he felt slipping away with every loud tick of the institutional clock that hung at the end of the hallway.

He was a few paces away when he heard the pull of the heavy bathroom door behind him followed by the crisp click of her heels on the tile floors. Anxious, he whirled around then stopped, momentarily frozen. It made her nervous, the way he looked at her, his eyes wide, darting across her. She watched him intently as she readjusted her stance, squared her shoulders, smoothed the sides of her dress. That image of her, seared into his memory, standing there, perfect in every way, stole his breath.

Her chest rose and fell with every apprehensive breath as she waited for his approval, causing the heavy band of beading around her neck to sparkle in the light. A tempting distraction which drew his attention to the sheer black fabric that masked her cleavage. Just revealing enough to be enticing.

Booth stepped closer, his eyes soft and full of passion. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. It never failed to amaze him how she could be so strong and outwardly confident one minute and look so vulnerable the next. Those reassuring chocolate eyes latched onto her stormy blues, calming troubled waters. Reaching for her shoulders, he intended to let his hands slip lightly down her bare arms then pull her away down a darkened hall, into a quiet corner.

"Bones." There was wonderment in his voice, it was deep and low and she felt it all the way to her core. "You're...wow...you look incredible." Smiling softly, she relaxed.

In that instant, right as he was about to step in, he pulled back. Clearing his throat, he offered up a quick acknowledgment to Angela, as she came barrelling out of the bathroom, bubbling over with excitement. She loved a good party.

His thirty seconds were lost.

Switching gears seamlessly, he complimented both ladies. Ceremoniously jetting both elbows out, he invited each of them to take an arm as he escorted them out to the festivities. That was it, no time to talk or steal a kiss or tell her how he already hated this night, one he was sure to spend watching other men ogle her.

Booth leaned his back against the bar, his jaw ticking wildly, body tense, lost in a long string of murderous thoughts.

"You should tell her, Seeley. It's been months now since your surgery, clearly you still feel the same." Turning around, he leaned his elbows on the edge of the bar and let his head hang down. Staring down into his tumbler of scotch, he didn't answer, just let out a long strained sigh.

"It's complicated, Cam." She gave him one sharp nod.

"She's complicated." A quiet, sardonic chuckle escaped him, deep and low. Cam had no idea just how true that was or how complicated life had become for them. A long string of explanations came pouring out, she was trying to make him feel better, which he appreciated but really didn't want to hear. Holding up his hand, he motioned for her to stop. She meant well, but what she had to say was irrelevant.

Somehow they managed to keep their relationship a secret much longer than either of them expected. He was sure there were suspicions, in fact, he thought it was all blown to hell after Bones was taken hostage at the Queen Anne. Calling Angela to take her home and wait with her was business as usual; but, when he showed up at Bones' apartment and sent Ange home, well, he thought for sure Angela would latch onto that like a bulldog and not let go until she got some answers. To her credit, Bones smoothed it over, made it all seem as normal as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Just Booth being Booth, she'd told her long time friend, overly protective, alpha-male Booth.

And so it went, business as usual, case after case. They traveled across the United States to New Mexico to hunt down aliens. Spent a night locked together in the lab by the mysterious General Services Administration. He thought for sure the squint squad would figure it out that night, they didn't. Debated religion and the concept of faith as they investigated the dark corners of a mental hospital and most recently dealt with a body unearthed when a subway flooded. They hid their secret well, fantastic in fact. If he went to the bureau today and told them about the change in their relationship he could definitely use the last few months as evidence of their ability to maintain a personal relationship and keep things professional.

And maybe it was time to do just that, before they blew it, because watching her being whisked across the dance floor in the arms of other men, especially Assistant Director Andrew Hacker, was killing him. All that evidence of professionalism would be lost as soon as he cold-cocked his boss for getting handsy with his girl. He rolled his wrist, flexing and clenching his hand into a tight fist, then shaking it off.

Booth turned around and looked back out at the dance floor, skimming the crowd until he found her again.

"Yeah, she's definitely complicated." He admitted with resignation in his voice, turning his attention to his longtime friend. Catching her eyes, part of him wanted to spill it all right there, dump it all at her feet. She already knew he loved her. This secret, this huge life altering change between them, had been just between him and Bones all this time and sometimes, especially tonight, he wanted, maybe even needed, another perspective. But, he hesitated, throwing her just a little scrap instead. "She's afraid." Pulling his eyes away, he stared down at his drink before downing the rest of it in one long swallow, stiffening for a second as he shook off the burn of the rich liquor.

"So, you _have_ talked to her about your feelings?" He cleared his throat, his gaze still fixed out across the crowd, and continued without acknowledging her question.

"She's _always_ been afraid...you know, that if we were in a relationship, a _personal_ relationship, and the bureau found out about it, they won't let us work together anymore." Camille Saroyan watched as he swallowed hard, looking away, refusing to make eye contact with her. "Our work, our partnership, it's . . . it's _really_ important to her."

That was an understatement. It was vital to her, life-sustaining, like her beating heart or air to breathe. He was her tether to the outside world, always had been, without that connection she would be forced back into the solitary existence of a lab rat and writer. There was no doubt in his mind, she would sacrifice everything to keep their working relationship intact. Unable to bare to look out at the dance floor anymore he turned back around, signaling for the bartender to pour him another drink.

Cam's eyes darted between the man standing next to her and her colleague dancing awkwardly out on the dance floor. It wasn't hard to piece together, but she wondered if she should say something or keep her revelation to herself. Nodding silently, she weighed it out, turning her back to the festivities too, nudging his arm with her own.

"You're already in a relationship with her." One short nod, that's all he gave her and all she offered in return. One wide-eyed nod of acknowledgment and a long, heavy sigh. She knew, more than anyone, how precarious their situation was. "How long? She whispered. Turning his head he just looked at her as if she already knew the answer. Their undercover assignment at the Queen Anne, a remote romantic getaway, forced to act like a couple in love, it made sense. And while they kept their secret this long he knew it was only a matter of time before the truth was bound to come out. "Go, Seeley, go step in, or cut in or whatever it's called, just stop torturing yourself and go dance with her."

"You're speaking as my friend, Camille, and I appreciate that I really do." His soft expression echoed his sentiment. "But, you know as well as I do it isn't that simple."

"I'll back you up. You have my support, the support of the Jeffersonian." His eyes begged her to stop tempting him with the promise of a perfect ending. "I've read the policy, Booth, it's not that clear, it's certainly open to some interpretation and exce-"

"Since when do you keep up on FBI fraternization policies, Camille?" She shot him a look and his heart twisted a little. Their on-again/off-again relationship always seemed to be more a matter of convenience than love, great friends with benefits, horrible as a couple. She ignored him.

"And Sweets, I think he really wants this for you guys." Leaning in closer, she became more animated as she whispered conspiratorially. "He's been trying to get you two together from the beginning, it's obvious to everyone. God, he wrote even a book about your relationship with Dr. Brennan. A book, Seeley. Have you read the draft? Admittedly, I've only skimmed it. I mean, really, I've lived it _so_ , it's not like I need to read every word, not really my definition of pleasure reading. But, regardless, I'm sure he'd be on your side too and ultimately, he's the one they're going to turn to, right? I mean, more than once he's made it clear that his recommendations could save or end your partnership. And all those higher ups and even Cullen, really, honestly, Seeley, they all think this thing between the two of you has been happening for years. It's not like it's going to be a big surprise to any of them."

Booth looked at her, more than anything in the world he wanted to believe what she was saying.

"Go, dance with her." He looked over his shoulder, across the dance floor then back to his friend and colleague, she could see the struggle written all over his face. "Go." She encouraged, slapping his shoulder playfully and trying to give him a push in the right direction. "Go." Nodding slowly at first, he hesitated, unsure if he was ready to take this bold step, especially since he hadn't talked to Bones about it. Then faster, bolder, as he gained confidence and embraced the idea.

Setting his drink down, Booth gave a light squeeze to Cam's shoulders and brushed past her headed straight into the fray, maneuvering briskly through the crowd. She was glued to his every move, grinning ear to ear, anxious to watch this play out. So absorbed that she startled when Angela nudged her elbow as she motioned the bartender for refills.

"You look happy." All giggles, Angela waved to Wendell who was sitting at a table not far from the bar. "Got your eye on some hotty out there?"

"No." She answered dismissively at first, still caught in the reverie of the moment. Then emphatically, realizing she may have inadvertently tipped Angela's attention towards Booth and Brennan. "Oh, no...no...I'm just enjoying the night, it's a beautiful night, isn't it? The night, they really did a great job."

It didn't work. Angela quickly pieced together the scene playing out in front of her, suddenly transfixed by Booth's movements and intended target. She squealed, garnering the attention of Hodgins. It didn't matter that so much time had passed between them, so much water under the bridge, he still responded to her as if she was his and he was still hers. Maybe he always would. After so much time and so much heartache, he was resigned to his fate. Accepting the fact that he would always love her. But he wasn't alone at the bar, he was with Sweets and Daisy, who immediately caught what was going on. Gravitating together, this group of colleagues and friends chattered, quickly exchanging predictions and theories as they watched with great anticipation.

They needed this, the excitement of this possibility, the joy, after what seemed like such a long arduous couple of years. It was something beautiful and alive in the middle of their world which was often overshadowed by such heaviness. Booth's tumor and long recovery, Angela's journey from engagement to breakup, through lovers and celibacy and back to dating, an intern no less. And most recently, preparations for the Gravedigger's trial. They needed this light at the end of the tunnel, this breath of fresh air, this embodiment of hope. They needed to know that something good, something beautiful and right could come out of all this chaos they lived and worked with.

The small collection of friends tried not to draw attention to themselves, wide-eyed, erupting in stifled cheers when Booth tapped politely on Hacker's shoulder.

"Oh God, really, do you have to be so damned chivalrous?" Hacker's protest was too late, she was in Booth's arms before he could even finish his complaint.

Bones brushed Booth's shoulders lightly, fingering the lapel of his sleek black tux as she fought the urge to pull him close and kiss him soundly. She missed his touch, the now familiar feel of his strong hands on her body. She hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to be separated from him for so much of the evening or what relief she would feel when they were finally close again.

"Hi." Whispering, Booth edged closer, letting his forehead rest on hers. One hand found the small of her back and held her close. While the other gently brushed her hair behind her shoulder before tenderly stroking her jaw and neck.

"Hi." She responded, soft and breathy. Her eyes fell closed, his touch consuming her as his fingers threaded their way through her hair.

"I know it's not rational because I know you've been here all night, but I missed you." She felt all the resistance leave Booth's body. His shoulders fell momentarily before she felt him catch himself, drawing back, tilting his head, his eyes connected with hers.

"God, Bones, I missed you too." Grabbing her by the hips, he drew her in close, wrapped his arms around her, sighing as she draped herself across his shoulders. "I...I swear...I've been going nuts." He confessed. Her eyes fell closed and she hummed her appreciation, melting into him.

Hacker didn't move away, just stood there staring at the couple in disbelief as they started to sway to the music. Caroline Julian made her way across the dance floor until she was right by Hacker.

"Dance with me, Cher." Her demand was loud and clear, shaking him from his stupor. "And close your damn mouth before you catch a bucket full of flies in that thing." Leading Hacker away, they made their way across the dance floor, giving her favorite crime fighters a little privacy.

They didn't notice, suspended in a world of their own, lost in the dim lights, swaying to the rich tones and tempered rhythm of the band.

"I want to kiss you." Ghosting across her cheek, Booth's desperate confession sent a chill through her. Unable to resist, she leaned in, nuzzling closer. Her heart pounding in anticipation, her eyes darting out across the sea of people. "It would change things, you know, not us, it wouldn't change things between us...I mean _we_ wouldn't change, but if...if...I kiss you here…" Watching her closely, he gave her a slight nod. Drawn in by the pull of her lips, one hand drifted down from her waist, smooth and possessive, along her hip, resting on her thigh, while the other came up to caress her cheek.

"I know." A beautiful confidence settled in her eyes and she leaned in, lips soft and open, she captured his mouth.

It was done.

One kiss, then two, already open, demanding, they gathered intensity and passion with each beautiful connection. Three, four, she lost count.

No more worrying about how and when to make their relationship known. Without all the fanfare, with no agonizing deliberation or extensive planning, revealing their secret took care of itself. The whoops and hollers pulled their attention. Cheek to cheek they looked out across the crowd to find the family of their own design cheering them on. Soft smiles and low laughter, the sparkle in their eyes rivaled the twinkling lights and starry night.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, Booth gave her one more lingering kiss.

"Not mistletoe," he spoke with great finality, his lips brushing against her forehead, "not anymore, not ever again."

"Not sexless," she affirmed, with that deep low laugh he loved so much.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you so much to all those who have been so dedicated to this story. When I started it I had no idea how long it would take to finish it. What a crazy couple of years! Real life is just so life-y sometimes, too life-y. But, that does make the escape so much sweeter, right? While this would be technically the end, I actually have an epilogue about half written. It's a wee bit sexier, which was kind of the design of this story, it was supposed to be kind of fun and sexy. Hopefully, I somewhat hit that mark.

Regardless, I want to that all those who gave it a shot and have been reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. That support means the world to me. It really keeps me writing. I do have a couple of other stories that have been nagging at me for quite some time now. Having this finished will allow me to give those stories some time. I am anxious to see where they go. One is set at the end of season 5, and revolves around the gravedigger case. The other has to do with Booth's proposal to Hannah and what led him to that - it starts around Sin in the Sisterhood. There are a couple others but these have been on my mind and in a kind of planning limbo since I started writing Need. I would love to be able to say when I would start posting those but I've had some health problems and just about everything is taking more time than I think it should so I will just leave it with hopefully soon and please don't give up on me. Anyways, that's kind of that.

Let me know what you think of this chapter and the story as a whole, I'll just be waiting over here hitting the refresh button.

Much love

~DG


	16. Epilogue

His body rose up to meet her's, hands firm on her hips, holding her tight, pulsing within her until she felt him collapse beneath her. Eyes still closed, he missed the stunning sight of her towering over him, head thrown back in ecstasy. His hands moved, rising along the extreme arch of her back then falling down around the beautiful curve of her hips, drifting low on her thighs. They rested there while he caught his breath, tucked behind her knees, between her thighs and calves.

She laughed in amusement, soft and low, a sound he loved above almost any other.

"What?" Booth huffed out, still slightly breathless.

Freeing his hands, he fiddled with her long graceful fingers before interlacing them with his and tugging lightly, pulling her down onto his chest. She hummed, taking a long satisfied breath before answering.

"Just something Angela said." Smiling, she reached a little to place a soft open kiss at the base of his neck, right where his collarbones met, his pulse still jumping wildly beneath her lips. She settled back down on his chest, momentarily lost in the feel of her body rising and falling with Booth's. Connected, in sync with one another, she'd come to love that feeling.

"Angela?" He prompted.

"Yes."

When she didn't volunteer any more than that, Booth started to get restless. Angela was a great friend to Bones, had been for years, but she liked to meddle and Booth was more than a little leery about her getting in the middle of their relationship.

"So," he offered up slowly. "What did she say?" Clearing her throat, Bones answered.

"Tonight, before we left, she said she's known we were together for awhile now. She said she knew right after we got back from the Queen Anne."

"From the photos." He added definitively.

It was a long established fact that Angela had a gift for reading photos. She saw things that nobody picked up on, well, with the exception of Booth, himself. While Bones chalked it up to the innate ability to read the minutia of body language, Booth knew it was not a science thing at all. Angela was more of a gut person, like him. She was only half squint.

"No." Her own surprise rang through her voice as she answered. "No, before that."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"No...I don't believe it...how?"

"You."

"Me?"

"She said it was your hands that gave it away."

"What? No. Me? My hands?" They worked very hard to keep their secret, conscious of anything that could indicate things changed between them. He couldn't help thinking back over their interactions trying to remember any time he may have slipped. "Nope. I think Angela is just having a hard time accepting we pulled one over on her."

Her low giggle vibrated through Booth's chest and he drew her just a little closer, pressing her body to his as his hands traveled up the long, beautiful curve of her back. Enjoying the simple beauty of the woman in his arms, he let out a long satisfied breath.

"She swears she knew."

"Well, okay, when?"

"It was one afternoon several days after we returned, I was coming out of the bone room as you were coming in and I didn't see you there."

"You ran into me." He remembered. "You stumbled." Off balance, she almost fell.

"Yes, and you caught me." Startled, her heart pounded as papers and files went flying everywhere. "Although, I am normally quite observant and very agile, on that particular day I was very tired. I hadn't slept those first few nights we were back."

"Because you weren't sleeping with me." Gloating, Booth pointed out what had taken some time for Bones to admit. "You always sleep better when you sleep with me." She laughed again, pushing herself up where she sat straddling his torso. Instinctively, his hands went to her waist, steadying her. She was beautiful, so confident and bold, no hesitancy, no reservations or insecurities. "Still, I don't see how that gave it away."

"Apparently, when you let go of my waist your hand kind of drifted down my hip and rested low on the side of my thigh, just for a moment. But, Angela said it was enough, she insists she knew it right then. She said a man doesn't do that unless he has some sort of intimate knowledge and familiarity with a woman, more than colleagues or friends."

"Hmmm." Letting his hand mimic the motion Bones described, he ran his hands back and forth over the smooth skin rounding her hips and thighs, sending a shiver through her body. "She's right about that, it's a pretty intimate gesture."

Lost in the feel of his strong hands, her eyes fell shut and she hummed softly. It was a beautiful kind of intimacy they shared, so much more than the sum of all the parts they played in each other's lives, partners, friends, lovers. They both fell silent, letting the moment linger between them until she laid back down on his chest, allowing herself to slip across his body and tuck herself into his arms, settling on his side. Her fingers drifted in lazy circles across his chest.

"Angela said she didn't say anything because she figured we needed time to figure it out for ourselves. She didn't want to jinx us by revealing our secret."

"Yeah, well, it's out now." Craning his neck a little to connect, Booth looked down at her. His eyes sparkled and that handsome, charming smile of his filled her heart. "I think it's safe to say everyone knows by now, whether they were there tonight or not." Booth chuckled. Talk about taking a gamble, he'd taken a huge risk with her, with their professional partnership, with everything that made them, well, them. Silently, he thanked God it all worked out.

There was a flurry of excitement, each person rushing to offer their congratulations. Hacker, who'd been schooled by Ms. Julian, dutifully congratulated them both promising his full support. Slapping Booth on the shoulder, he jokingly conceded that the better man won. Sarcasm played to his favor, though Booth could see the pain in his eyes. He knew that pain, had felt it himself over the years, and decided to take it easy on the guy.

Sweets was right there as a witness and agreed wholeheartedly, publicly backing the decision to let their partnership stand despite their obvious personal relationship. Planting a seed with Hacker as he suggested partner's therapy to help them make this adjustment to their professional and personal lives. Booth groaned and protested, though if that was the price they needed to pay to bend the rules, well, he could live with that.

Angela squealed, so many times Booth lost count. They were smothered with congratulatory hugs and handshakes. He thought they'd never get out of there, neither of them did. But eventually the hoopla died down and Cam graciously pulled them aside and freed them to leave the party early.

And then they were home and talking was the last thing on their minds.

It was a champagne and candle light kind of night. Lots to celebrate, as evidenced by the trail of clothes and shoes and accessories strewn from his front door to the foot of his bed. Laugher, sounds of love and pleasure, filled his tiny apartment well into the wee hours of the morning.

That's when his beautiful Bones made another decision, probably the most spontaneous professional decision of her life to date. Booth had his annual vacation coming up, a week he routinely took off before school started. Normally, this time would be spent with Parker but Parker was in England with his mom for some work related trip. Brennan never took her vacations when he did, with Booth gone she had time to focus on bone storage cases, something near and dear to her heart after the discovery of her own mother.

But when she realized he would be leaving town within twenty-four hours the mood darkened quickly, a heaviness filled the room. That's when she did it. Changed her plans abruptly, calling Cam in the middle of the night without even talking to Booth first. Sprawled out across the bed on her tummy, she reached for her phone and dialed, waiting for a sleeping Cam to answer. Rushing to explain, she informed her she would be using some of her accumulated vacation time to spend with Booth.

"Dr. Brennan, can we discuss this on Monday morning?" She paused, her groggy, tired voice didn't hide her annoyance at all, "in the lab." Cam added with emphasis.

"No." Brennan's answer was direct and clear. "I won't be in on Monday. I am taking my vacation starting now. Which is why I am calling now."

She was answered by nothing but an annoyed grunt from Cam's end of the conversation.

Lying in bed, nothing but a sheet wrapped haphazardly around their naked bodies, Booth's hands started to wander, which proved to be a tantalizing distraction. Bones swatted at them half-heartedly as Dr. Camille Saroyan did her best to ignore the sounds of foreplay in the background.

"I felt it only fair to call you and let you know." Unsatisfied, Booth rolled Bones onto her back, his cheek brushing against the swell of her breast as he kissed his way down from her neck. Another disgruntled groan echoed in her ear, this one aimed more at Brennan's barely veiled sounds of pleasure, which left Cam with a pretty vivid mental image of the two partners in bed.

"Maybe I am not making myself clear." It came out breathy and ended with a long moan as Booth teased her with open-mouthed kisses trailing slowly down below her belly button. "Booth and I are going on vacation together."

"I get it, Dr. Brennan." She was quickly losing her ability to think coherently. Wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder she reached for Booth, pulling him and his attention back up to her lips, kissing him soundly.

"We will be in a cabin high up in the Shenandoah National Park where there is no cell service. You won't be able to reach us and I won't be able to call you."

"I understand, thank you." She would say just about anything to get off the phone at this point, but stopped having realized what her chief anthropologist said. "No cell service?"

"Yes, correct, no cell service."

"No way to reach you?" Good for them, she thought to herself, god knows it's the only way they could actually get some uninterrupted time together. If they could be reached one "emergency" or another would cut their time short for sure.

"I am sorry for calling so late." She scolded Booth under her breath as he nuzzled into her neck, just below her ear. "And for the short notice but felt it only fair to warn you."

"Consider me warned."

It was done. And when she turned her attention back to her partner there was a light in her eyes that captivated him, both body and soul. This whimsical, spontaneous Bones was new to him. He loved it, loved her.

"What?" Her eyes dance over his broad smile and sparkling eyes.

"You never cease to amaze me, Bones. Just when I think I have you all figured out you do something unexpected and remarkable and I fall in love with you all over again."

"Well, I am amazing, so that's not so surpri-" Tickling her , he got lost in the sounds of her laughter as he rolled his hips against hers.

"I love you, Temperance Brennan."

"I love you too, Booth."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: A special thank you goes to snowybones for all her continued support and friendship. She reads and re-reads, and talks me off the ledge, and keeps me from deleting everything I write! She helps keep my insecure, fatalistic muse in check! She is my muse wrangler!

AND thank yous to everyone who's been following this story, reading, reviewing, following and favoriting! You have been a very patient lot! This story took much longer to write and post than I thought when I started it. I suppose I needed something a little lighter and this story certainly filled the bill. It's been a fun journey. I will do my best to catch up on responding to reviews. My health has been a little tricky lately and while it should, in theory, give me more down time, mostly I've been sleeping and trying to let my body catch up. Autoimmune diseases suck.

I'm already a couple chapters into my next piece. I thought I might share the first couple paragraphs here as a teaser. I think I must be a glutton for punishment because I keep coming back to the first half of season six.

 **Sound of the Sea**

Chapter 1

"The roaring seas and many a dark range of mountains lie between us."

― **Homer** , **The Iliad**

Leaning forward, Booth rubbed his hands down his face letting his jaw drop as he went. The rough feel of stubble chased by a long exasperated sigh. He collapsed in on himself. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, he stared down at his coffee table. A bottle of scotch, a tumbler, only the remnants of two fingers resting at the bottom of a glass, his cell phone, all lined up in a row. Another breath, heavy and forced. He looked over towards his bedroom. It wasn't fair. Not to her, or him for that matter, not to any of them. The overwhelming injustice of it all rolled over him in unrelenting waves.

Hannah's silhouette hovered in the doorway between his living room and bedroom, a silent witness to his nightmares. She just stood there, arms crossed protectively across her chest bunching up his oversized Flyers t-shirt, haloed in dim moonlight which crept around her through cracks in the blinds. This happened regularly, often enough for them to develop a routine. Often enough for her to stop asking what she could do to help, tired of his terse answer. "Just give me some space."

This was not the heroic soldier that rescued her, not the one she played with under the shade of fig trees. And while she knew about PTSD, having reported on it numerous times, living it was certainly different. He was different. Her soldier seemed to be getting worse the longer he was stateside, not better. Letting out a loud huff, she retreated back into the bedroom.

He watched her go.

Jaw ticking violently, every muscle taut, he reached for the tumbler but grabbed his phone instead. The punishing light momentarily blinding him as the phone sprung back to life. The keyboard was still up, cursor still flashing where he deleted his latest attempt at a text.

"Now you remember, Shrimp, it's all in there, everything you need to know." Pop's voice echoed in his head, the comforting repetition of advice given over and over through the years. Words of wisdom from the grandfather that saved him, taught him how to be a man, a good man. Booth rubbed the center of his chest, missing the strong tap Pops always placed right over his heart. "You just do what it tells you."

"Do what it tells you." There was an answer in that, had to be.

" _ **Hey,"**_ he typed, then closed his eyes and hit send.

…..

So, what do you think of the epilogue...and this new one? I'm always anxious to hear.

Thank you so much for all the support and encouragement

Much love

~DG


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